Prodigal Daughter

I meant to write this post earlier, and had actually drafted a version while I was still living in Philadelphia, and then another while I was sitting in the airport in Austin, Texas, but I never quite had the chance or the inclination to come up with something to actually blog. I suppose though, that its better I do it now that I'm back in San Diego and I can confirm or deny the thoughts I had prior to moving back and in the midst of moving back.

okay enough rambling. Because I'm lazy, this is what I had written in Texas, mid-move:

At the moment I’m sitting in an airport in flat lands of Texas, after the most vomit inducing landing ever. The whole 30 minute descent was like being on a ship at sea tossed about in a storm. I suppose it didn’t help much that I was being a freak and staring and focusing weirdly that the sights out of my little window. FYI, I like window seats because I fall asleep on every flight, and I like to be able to lean against something. Living in San Diego, I’m used the rolling hills, the coastline, the suburbs and the city. Sometimes I forget that there’s something between idyllic seascape and busy urban city skyline. Like, for instance, here in, Texas, where the topography is flat for miles around. Suburban streets and surrounded by plots of land, fields, and then more suburban blocks of residential housing. I can’t get over how flat it is out here. No mountains, no huge skyscrapers to cut into the sky, no hills, nothing. Everything is on the same visual plane. I know I shouldn’t be as amazed by that as I am, but there it is nonetheless.

Oh, but I suppose this post was supposed to be about Philadelphia.

I’m not gonna lie, I did feel a bit sad about leaving the city where I experienced such grief—for the very reason that it was the city where I first experienced the trials of being an adult. Being out on my own, in the biggest sea I’ve ever known, far away from everything comforting and comfortable in my life, forced me to struggle and fight for things that I hadn’t ever before. And there were definitely times where it felt overwhelming.

And as much as I disliked certain elements of living in Philadelphia, the thing that I appreciated the most were the friends that I had made there. To be honest, when I first got there and in the program, I had serious reservations about the kind of people who would be there. Maybe my cynical outlook is the reason why I was so pleasantly surprised to find a few people who I don't mind calling friends.

They are what I will miss the most about Philadelphia.

Looking back, I don't regret anything. As I watched these friends continue to fight through their classes, through the struggles that make up what it's like to be an academic, but also to reap the rewards and benefits that inevitably come from such a fight, I won't lie and say that I didn't feel pangs to sadness. Because they will get to experience and accomplish things that I have only ever dreamt about.

But even still, I don't regret anything: not my decision to come out to philadelphia nor my decision to leave it. I had to go out there in order to figure out what I wanted. Because if I hadn't, it would have always been a "what if" in my mind--it would have been something I would have regretted for the rest of my life.

As it is now, I don't have any regrets. Or at least, not on that account haha.

And now that I'm back in SD, a few reflections.

I absolutely love flying into San Diego. The plane sweeps across the city, so on one side of the plane the view is balboa park and on the other side, downtown and the pacific ocean. My favorite time to land is dusk. Because the low setting sun paints everything in that golden glow you come to expect from San Diego, or California in general.

Even though it was hot that day, it wasn't the stifling humidity of the East coast. And it was such a perfect day to come home. Tiffany picked me up and we did the thing that is a MUST when coming back to SD: we got mexican food haha. Picked up burritos and headed to the most perfect strip of beach in SD: torrey pines <3

I'm still trying to adjust, I suppose. It's a feeling akin to the one you get when you return to your childhood home or elementary school--things are the same, but not quite. Oh, you know who could put this feeling into terms far better than I could ever do? Holden.

(here he's talking about revisiting a museum he frequented as a child):

The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was. Nobody'd move. You could go there a hundred thousand times, and that Eskimo would still be just finished catching those two fish, the birds would still be on their way south, the deers would still be drinking out of that water hole, with their pretty antlers and their pretty, skinny legs, and that squaw with the naked bosom would still be waving that same blanket. Nobody'd be different. The only thing that would be different would by you. Not that you'd be so much older or anything. It wouldn't be that, exactly. You'd just be different, that's all. You'd have an overcoat on this time. Or the kid that was your partner in line the last time had got scarlet fever and you'd have a new partner. Or you'd have a substitute taking the class, instead of Miss Aigletinger. Or you'd heard your mother and father having a terrific fight in the bathroom. Or you'd just passed by one of those puddles in the street with gasoline rainbows in them. I mean you'd be different in some way--I can't explain what I mean. And even if I could, I'm not sure I'd feel like it.

(wow. I actually pulled my copy off the shelf to search for that quote, and just thumbing through the pages and skimming through passages reminded me just how excellent that book is and why it remains one of my favorites. Catcher and Holden, along with P&P and Darcy, was one of the first books I felt like I had a relationship with. They came to me at the moment in my life where I was yearning to read something that could affect me. I remember being just hungry for something to read.

That image of the puddles with gasoline rainbows I remember vividly & still remains with me to this day).

The one fabulous thing about coming home is that the relationships I have with people didn't seem to suffer at all. Its just like picking up right after where we left off and for that I remain extremely grateful.

And now I think I need to spend time with Holden, he's a dear friend I haven't visited with in quite some time:)