I’m missing a lot of people at the moment. Some people that are here in California, but way down south. A lot of people that are back in Illinois, where I feel like myself. Where I feel like I don’t have to hold my breath all the time. Where the ground knows my feet. Where I don’t have to try so goddamned hard to be seen, to be known, to be…me.
It’s not that I don’t like SF. I do. A lot. I like it now miles and miles more than I did six months ago, when I cried just thinking of the changing of the leaves and the crisp air of a Midwestern fall. It’s been a New Year’s Resolution to stop the morose whining about not being in a place that’s familiar and to just be in the place where I am. And to actually participate in that place. That’s the important part. This resolution has yielded some lovely fruits, mainly in the form of strong friendships and late nights, doing things in a place that is finally, after 18 months, beginning to feel like home. Slowly, to be sure. Very slowly.
But there’s nothing wrong with missing people. The difference now, I think, is that I don’t automatically wish I was there with them…sometimes – maybe only sometimes – I wish they were here.