The air is thinner and crisper here, and you notice the land because it reaches up to the sky. Everything tastes real, and the smell of seaweed at low tide is pleasantly offensive. The last couple of weeks I've found myself thinking maybe this is ok. But I still can't get used to the fact that this place I grew up feels like a novelty.
I'm probably the only person who watches Fargo and gets homesick in the opening scene, as the main character drives through grey snow. I've started watching British sitcoms so I don't feel nostalgic. I miss (falsely) feeling like I am in the timezone where everything happens. I miss eating out, how everyone says hello, the yellow school buses, Nordstrom Rack, indecently large family cars, and the humidity that robs your sleep. I wish people everywhere drove on the right. I miss how easy it is to just exist there, to collect possessions and belongings, even if they seduce you into thinking you're moving forward and doing the right thing when really you're just existing.
In honor of the land of 24-hour drive thru pharmacies, infinite condiments, concrete roads, and $5 pitchers (Here the difference between logic and emotion is obvious). But also to recognizing that I'll never get back to the exact place I miss and realizing (with the benefit of distance) that not everything is as perfect as you let (or make) yourself think.
(Note: I know logically everything is ok, but there is a difference between knowing and feeling. Also I know this blog is becoming a bit of a drag but I thought about it for a bit and did not really mind).