Taste of California

Tonight I am sitting in a coffee house, deep down south in Tennessee. Interestingly enough, the owners of the coffee house are from California. As I type this, we are conversing about the west coast. I miss it.

Its been a little over two years that this desire to move back to California has been slowly burning in my heart. Going back last weekend fanned the flames, and the fire began to burn brighter and hotter than it ever has.

My brother was the first one to question my reasoning for moving back to Tennessee six years ago. He said I was more alive there, and I blended into the culture seemlessly. I have been reflecting on his insight from back then, and began to question why I did what I did. It was the path I had to take. The stepping stones of life led me here, and now they seem to be leading back.

The first day I was in California by myself, I will never forget. It was January 9th, 1995. I didn't have a car, and upon waking that morning, I made the decision to take care of the essentials. My goals for that day were to find a bank, open an account, find a post office, and then discover the new city that spread out around me.

I had no idea where to go. I was living in the heart of what I thought was old Hollywood. I could see the Hollywood sign from the front lawn. I was south of Melrose, north of Beverly, east of Normandie, and west of Vermont.

More to come ...