Sweet Home California

. . . where the sky is so blue (and a little orange from the smog).

As soon as I stepped on west coast soil – if the blue and gray carpeting in the airport terminal counts as soil – I shouted: “I’M HOME!”

Okay, so I shouted internally, not out loud, but it was as if I’d sounded my barbaric yawp that Walt Whitman writes about.

Ron had to fly to Los Angeles for a work conference, so he had asked me if I wanted to come along.

“Yeeeeeees,” I sang as I ran down the hallway. I threw a handful of t-shirts and shorts in a suitcase and raced to the airport – that’s why I’m here a week early.

In the cab, I called him from my cell phone.

Me: I’m home!
Ron: Yeah.
Me: Everything looks great!

Technically, the cabbie was driving through a construction zone complete with litter and graffiti, but I meant “looks great” as in “looks familiar.”

The street names: San Vicente, Wilshire, Pacific Coast Hwy.
The trees: green palms, orange corals, purple jacarandas.
The restaurants – Monsoon, Blue Plate, The Lobster.

Not to mention the sparking blue ocean and perfect weather.

HOME!

I savored every day, every hour, every minute. I saw people I’ve missed and I saw people I didn’t even know I missed. For example, when I stopped by Starbucks, guess who was there? The Starbucks lady! The same one that’s always been there!

“Sweetie!” she said.

“I’m home!” I said.

I was even nostalgic over the shoe salesman at Bloomingdales. Too far out? Okay, how about the smell of sweet jasmine? The oozing blue ocean that’s soothing to my aching soul? The pregnant moon shining above the mountains in the morning sky, ready to give birth to a new day?

I could barely contain my longing to return. To cope, I made 60,000 appointments with my therapist.

“Does Ron know you feel this way about California?” she asked.

Yes, he knows.

But now what?

I agreed to move away. I agreed to support his job change. I agreed to give the east coast a try.

But how long do you have to wear an outfit before you admit that it JUST DOESN’T FIT? That the east coast is too scratchy (mosquitoes) and wet (rain) and formal (major lack of flip flops)?

Here’s what I decided:

I think maybe this time apart from "home" is a gift.
I think maybe I should be grateful.
I think I’m gaining understanding and information and perspective from 3000 miles away.

So instead of trying this very minute to solve what feels like a massive dilemma, I’m going to sit on my feelings for awhile. I going to let myself miss my home and let myself love it and let myself dream about how Ron and I could make it a part of our lives again one day – when another gift presents itself.

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On a separate note - thanks to everyone for commenting on my last posting. I've accumulated so many new books I have no idea how I'm going to travel back without breaking my suitcase.