opened and closed that golden gate

Except actually, I haven’t been on the Golden Gate Bridge in a really long time. But I did just get back from a week in the Bay Area, and even though it was a little exhausting, it was also rejuvenating. Now I think I can get through the next two weeks, before I quit my job and start my new one.

I loved it there. I think maybe that’s where I want to end up in the future. Berkeley was lovely; San Francisco was cool. It made me wish I were a photographer, or that I were just the sort of person who remembers to take photos. I took maybe 10 photos the entire time, and the one photo I really wanted to take, of the turkeys that roam near my grandparents’ house, I didn’t get to. But there were also photos I imagined taking in restaurants, stinky, muraled alleys, rocks overlooking the bay, downtown sidewalks and sunken houses. I don’t have a visual mind, and I’m not someone who spends a lot of time looking at photos from vacations anyway, but sometimes I wish I could be.

I got to do everything I wanted to–saw all the relatives and old friends I wished to see, got really good tours of places that were personal tours, not generic visits to museums and parks, learned how to drive on a California freeway, got to take public transportation and find my way through a city I know next to nothing about. Stayed up late last night eating vegan pots de crème and talking about life and changes and growing up and moving on and how going to new places can be really wonderful .This makes me really excited to move to Boston and get to know it. And I can’t stop thinking about how, three years from now, I’ll be on the verge of another life change, and the fact that I’m so excited and know that I’ll be so prepared helps me feel less worried about all those life milestones others keep asking me about–the ones I’m nowhere near getting to. I think I’m on a good track.

Landing back home today was horrendous. I get worse at landing every time, and I think the air quality in Tucson gets worse every time, making it more and more turbulent. I’m not an anxious kind of person, but I make myself so every time an airplane starts rattling. I tell myself all these awful things and then try to convince myself that I’m going to go on in life, and then I freak out even more because I’m being so irrational. But it always works out, because I don’t think my hometown would try to kill me. I love it too much.

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