There was a time in my life when being far from my family of origin seemed totally viable. For starters I was going west for only three months, so while I loved them, the distance was temporary. Besides, flights go back and forth daily between New York and California, so one of us could jump on a plane any time. Flying was actually fun back in the days before 9/11.

As it turned out, in my first brief visit to the other coast I fell in love with a person and with a lifestyle. I well remember riding my bike along the boardwalk on Christmas, crying for joy at the sight of roadside flowers in January, and the delight of having bare legs all winter. Once I started a new career and a new business, all thoughts of returning to New York evaporated as quickly as the drops of water from my bathing suit on Venice Beach.

When I made my decision to stay in California, I still wasn't thinking about long term ramifications. It wasn't until our daughter was born that I really began to miss my family. Besides having no support or babysitters, my kid grew up knowing her relatives only from vacations, which is just not the same. There was no "Run over to Oma's for a cookie," or "Spend the night with Aunt Liss while we go see a play." Busy schedules, plane fares and my sister's fear of flying made dinner with cousins a rarity, and there was none of that easy, familial give and take. We both missed the east coast relatives, and as new members joined the family, we knew them less and less. Even now I've met the youngest, who's just starting to walk, only on Skype.

Last weekend my next-door neighbors invited me to join their family party. There were at least two dozen aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews gathered for the eldest's 75th birthday, and it was a joy to be included. But it also made me realize once again what some of my trade-offs have been. I have new friends here of course, but when you get right down to it, at least in my case, there's nothing quite like family.