Transitions, Mixing.
So it's the day after xmas, a day that this year involved travel and involved family NOT back in Pennsylvania. You see, I'm the only one in the family that traditionally has lived away from Northeastern Pennsylvania (NEPA to those in the know). Now, however, my older brother lives away from home (in Phoenix), which is near to here (Tucson).
So, xmas eve, we drove up to Phoenix and spent that evening with my brother and his girlfriend. Xmas Day, we went to friends of theirs for a rather non-traditional (but yummy) xmas dinner. We drove back to Tucson later last night, speeding down I-10 with most roadside businesses conducting business-as-usual.
Today I sit here writing, sipping coffee, while the boyfriend stands at his turntables, mixing music. We're caught in that in-between state of having finished cleaning up the house and waiting to get to the airport in a few hours to head back to San Francisco. And I figured I might as well spend some time pondering things. Y'know, cuz I'm like that.
There's a dreamlike quality for me, in being away from home (San Francisco), wherever “away” happens to be. And not always for the same reason, although the being-away is always a part of it. The dreamlike quality strikes against the axis of Time when I go back to NEPA, making it easy, sometimes, to forget When I am. As for being in Tucson, there's a familiarity after spending so much time here, so frequently, but the dream quality is all about being with the boyfriend, bounded on the ethereal side by my feelings for him, bounded on the mundane side with the disconnect between my thoughts and the muscle-memory of knowing how to navigate the giant grid of Tucson.
When I am elsewhere—wait...where else have I gone?—oh, yes, well, take Seattle. I was up thataway for the NX4 thing, but since my friend Lance and I drove up, that was simply a roadtrip, the act of collecting memories to be sorted through later, or more often, just dumped in a virtual shoebox, there for future serendipities.
But in all cases, it's what isn't changed that makes it interesting. It's me. It's my feelings for Sam. For my family. For my friends. Times, Places, People come and go, but there are certain markers—anchors, even—that, along with the horizon, can let you triangulate back to your Self.
Oh, and speaking of Seattle, a special thanks to a certain Clinton for helping make San Francisco that much more beautiful and healthy a place, though Washington may come to despise you for it one day. Blame Canada.