What We Miss About California
... What We Don't
Moving from California to Vancouver Island means having opinions — plural. Sometimes they match, sometimes they don’t, and sometimes we just shrug and pour another cup of tea. What follows isn’t a debate so much as a comparison chart between two people who lived in the same house… but apparently in slightly different Californias. Turns out, you can love a place, leave a place, miss a place, and not miss it at all — all at the same time.
We’ve been in Victoria for five months and have experienced only the tail end of the Canadian summer and the first month of winter. Getting comfortable and acquainted with local stores and businesses and adjusting to Victoria’s pace and rhythm has taken a while. Aside from discovering some really cool places up here, we’ve seen so very little of Vancouver Island and Victoria. It’s easy to tell you what I miss about California. But even as I say that you must know British Columbia is impressive. It takes my breath away. It’s difficult not comparing the two.
I will start by telling you I miss California. How could I not? It’s a wonderful place to live. If you can afford it. Lately it was getting difficult. Our son Aaron still lives in SOCAL and I don’t like the separation one bit. But music, comedy and living his own life keeps him there. For the moment, anyway. That’s what we like to think. We try to communicate via Zoom and Facetime (trying to solve mystery movies on TV), making a 2-hour movie last 3 hours with our clever back and forth repartee’. So we talk.
I do miss the little town of El Segundo. It is such a great community. Only 19,000 people live there in charming bungalows on clean, mostly narrow streets. They have one of the best high schools in the State and their entire school system is excellent. There are more Mexican restaurants than they need and many churches to soothe the anxious souls, no doubt. I mean this is southern California, right? Anxiety and angst gets built into your DNA down there.
Impossible to believe stop and go traffic is more a curiosity in El Segundo than the headache it is in surrounding LA cities. In fact traffic jams and dangers in this town come from electric bikes and golf carts. Not cars. When I think I abandoned that little burg only three years after adopting her, you must wonder, have I no decency? After one thousand days I kicked her out for Victoria by the Sea.
Don’t misunderstand me. Sure I miss El Segundo, but I already know where they make the best sourdough bread in Victoria and I have the best coffee shops narrowed down to seventeen possibles. I swear, I shudder when I think of the war I might be starting amongst these brew houses.
You have to believe me: Victoria is a place where magic happens. Not like some carnival trickster, but in the way she makes you believe she must be tricking you; no city can be this busy, this clean and so enchanting; no harbor can be this natural, have walkways and parks and wildlife and seaplanes and cruise ships and be so intimate. And yet Victoria does all that and more every day.
Lastly, leaving your family is complicated. I miss my brothers and sisters. The same is true for nephews, nieces, cousins and in-laws. Family is important. I forget that sometimes. When we get thrust or pulled into this world family is all around us in the beginning. As it turns out, family is all we have in the end, too. As we grow our families become our teachers. The same is true for our friends, isn’t it? Except we chose our friends. I’m sure we will stay in touch. Everyone knows where we are.
This will be a good question to look at on our first anniversary, come August 2026.
For me, leaving California is a bit like stepping away from a long-running series: you know the cast, the settings, the inside jokes, and you’ve learned how to time the traffic lights and grocery sales. So yes, there are things I miss.
I miss Northern California towns from South Lake Tahoe to San Francisco. I miss train trips to see family in Alameda, where my son was born. Most recently, I miss the simple joy of sharing the same airspace in Southern California as our son. I miss the ability to call up friends and say, “Are you home? I’m coming over,” without needing an airport, a passport, or a currency conversion.
I miss walking along the Pacific Ocean, always there as a tonic. I miss seeing that ocean a mile away on my navigation map when I park at home. I miss living in our home, with our furniture, and our familiar dents, scratches, and quirks. (We’re renting a vacation property at the moment — lovely, but someone else’s memories live in the walls.)
I miss my California retirement routine — the neighborhood rhythm, my favorite stores, and where to find our favorite products and eateries. I miss the ease of navigating my own health care ecosystem, with doctors I have long trusted . I even miss the commissary on our nearby military base, where you could find things you didn’t know you needed at a price you didn’t want to question.
I miss a good steak at a price that doesn’t make my wallet sigh in resignation. Same can be said for avocados. I miss the laid-back pace of my little beach town, and I miss its Stepford-like weather — that reliable mid-70s bubble that never seemed to break. It turns out climate consistency spoils you.
I dearly miss the metric system. Pounds at the butcher? Miles per gallon? I’m doing my best. The real chaos showed up when the BC licensing office asked for my weight in kilos and I unconsciously responded in pounds. My drivers’ license, stubornly insists I weigh over 300 pounds.
But there are things I don’t miss — and I noticed that almost immediately.
I don’t miss the traffic. Not the freeways, not the surface streets, not the endless waves of brake lights. I don’t miss the bugs or spiders. (To my surprise, I haven’t seen a single spider since crossing the border. Canada may have perfected immigration controls for arachnids.)
I don’t miss the anxiety that, thanks to work-related stress, turned freeway driving into an Olympic sport of nerves. That level of anxiety vanished on day two of our drive here, as if anxiety itself decided not to emigrate.
I don’t miss the political theater drama — the protests, the arguments, the constant churn of opinion both on the street and online. I don’t miss watching green hills turn dry and brown by May, or the faint guilt of knowing that fire season was just around the corner.
California gave us an extraordinary run — family, friendships, roots, careers, and memories — but leaving made room for something new. And maybe that’s the quiet truth of moving at this stage of life: you can hold gratitude in one hand and relief in the other, and both can be true.f