You’re Not in California Anymore, Kaitlyn.

From California IPAs to Alaska Duck Farts

I landed in Juneau with no friends, a delayed car (shout out to the Alaska Marine Highway System though), and five animals that were not mine. Some might call it brave. Others might say “Are you okay?” And the answer is… both…

And let me tell you, when they say Juneau is a temperate rainforest, they are not messing around. I went from sunshine and IPAs in California to constant rain and ordering something called a “Duck Fart” at the bar. Yes, that’s a real drink.

But let’s back up.

Lonely, Wet, and Slightly Fermented

Before I started work, I had about a week of pure existential drift. It was cold. It was rainy. I knew no one. And I went from constant connection — time with family in Missouri, spontaneous dinners with friends in California, family visits in Oregon — to talking to cats. Plural. There were three of them. And two dogs.

I’ve since learned my maximum pet capacity is two indoor animals. That’s it. That’s my boundary.

The Panic Part

Then came my first day. Suddenly, I was the new kid again; older than most, completely clueless, and 110% not in charge. I came from a structured, hybrid, benefits-rich office job; the kind with ergonomic chairs and constant zoom meetings. Suddenly I was working 8-12 hour days, on my feet, with no real sense of direction (literally or professionally).

Oh, and instead of feeling in charge of things like I used to be or knowing the ins and outs of the job… I was now asking “Is this coffee for guests or emotional support staff only?”. Don’t even get me started on the polo I have to wear…

The learning curve was steep. But here’s the plot twist: I kind of liked it?

Step Three: Make Friends or Keep Talking to the Pets

At first, I did all my exploring solo. Which was fine. I’m good at that. Character-building, even. But eventually, work friends started turning into actual friends. The beauty of seasonal work is that most everyone’s new, slightly disoriented, and looking for a hiking buddy or someone to have a drink with after a shift.

It’s like adult summer camp. Only with more rain gear and longgg work hours.

Oh, So This Is Who I Am?

What’s surprised me most is how many things I thought I knew about myself that suddenly don’t feel so certain.

I didn’t realize how much of myself I was shoving into a tight little office-friendly box until I stepped out of it. I was still me, still clever, still funny, but everything felt... overly edited, calculated. I shape-shifted to fit whatever version of “capable and promotable” I thought people wanted. I planned meetings like a Virgo with a vendetta. But I’m a full blown Aquarius for god-sake! I’m meant to be WEIRD. Instead I overthought every word, every email, every casual “hope you're well!” because I wanted to be seen as sharp, competent…. worthy.

And the thing is... I thought I liked being “important”. And maybe I did, a little. But I’m also realizing I love the freedom of being silly again. Of being in motion. Of greeting people with windblown hair and just being part of their day, not the entire weight of it. I don’t need to know it all to feel valuable. I just need to feel like myself.

I thought I needed a five-year plan. But now I’m thinking… Maybe I just need a six-month contract and a damn good raincoat.

I also thought I liked rain a lot more…

It feels like I over-corrected my life — slammed the wheel hard in the other direction after driving full-speed into burnout. But maybe over-correcting is what brings balance back. Or maybe it just gives you new questions to ask. Either way, I’m here for it.

I think it shook me out of autopilot, and that feels like progress.

What I’m Learning

I don’t think Alaska is forever for me. But it is something I’ll always remember. I’ll always be able to say:

“Remember that one time I just packed up and moved to Alaska for six months to work at a helicopter company?”
“Yeah, that was wild.”

I’m not sure what comes next. And weirdly… that’s fine. This job ends in six months, and then I get to ask, “What next?” again. And again.

In the meantime, I’m learning to take life a lot less seriously. Not every job has to be a ladder. Not every friendship has to be lifelong. Not every version of me has to be the final one.

I’m not trying to be the best. I’m not trying to be the favorite. I’m quick to say “I don’t know”. If someone doesn’t like me… okay? In six months, we may never see each other again. That’s oddly freeing for a people pleaser like myself.

So no, I’m not in California anymore.

But I am somewhere pretty incredible. With pretty incredible people.

And yes….. I ordered a Duck Fart AND everyone should know that the orca fart is BETTER.