So when I was a teenager I thought like a teenager and I acted like a teenager and I wanted nothing to do with where I grew up. Now given, I had no grand plans to get out of the place, but I was COMPLETELY over it. Especially when you live a good twenty minute car ride out into the country from anywhere and as my friends affectionately deemed you live, “out in the boonies”. Yet even as I write this I think that I am a decade plus one away from when the teenage years began and how much I have changed from that pip squeek of a girl. I now at the very wise old age of twenty four love going home. I haven’t actually lived there in three or four years now. Maybe I gained my true sense of love for it when I was “forced” to go without it for a year…I know choosing to live in another beautiful country 10,000 miles away isn’t really “forced” but you get what I mean. Coming “home” was not the wisest choice or in the budget. Since moving back to Southern California I have made a goal within me to make it home at least once a month if not that then it can’t be more than two months between each visit. Its funny how a place can be a place that feels like “prison” (I use the term very loosely) and then be the one place in the world where I am completely free and at peace. Maybe it comes with age, maybe wisdom, maybe just a little common sense to realize what is right before me. I guess I could take this perspective in a lot of areas of my life, but for now it relates the most to going home, being at home. There is just something about it that gives it the feeling like Christmas is around the corner and how many people really want to pass that by?