Just Got Home From... Home.

As a transplant from Southern California to Seattle, I'm still trying to make sense of the adjustment of the context of the word "home." For the majority of my life, "home" has always been somewhere in the expanse of Orange County. Now, for the last seven months, "home" is a city that I only ever visited once for a couple days when I was 12. But as soon as I caught sight of that iconic skyline from the light rail train bringing me in from SeaTac, I felt like I could relax for the first time in five days. I'm sure most of it's tied up in the fact that all of my "stuff" is here in Seattle now, and it's just easier to have it all at my disposal. And also that I have a massive network of friends/family that I need to attend to when I am in SoCal, which can be exhausting. But it's an alien feeling, coming from that network of people that I love to a place where I know very few people, and still feeling... comfortable. I think part of it comes from the plane in my life that I hit when I came up here. I've been on my own financially since I graduated college at 21, but I've never been really "on my own" in the fullest sense of the word. Moving up here is the closest I've ever gotten to doing that, and I think something changes in you when that happens. A different facet gets added onto the person you've shaped yourself into thus far into life. OK, getting far too philosophical. Stop that, Jenn.

Sadly, I come home to an empty house, as Cole and ALL the animals (yes, cat and BOTH dogs) are in Spokane. So I don't even get a furry snuggle-buddy on my first night back, which is kind of depressing since my dog has been my "security blanket/boyfriend stand-in" for the last four years and two failed relationships, and not having even that comfort is a bummer. I guess I'll just have to dance around the house in my underwear singing loudly off-key since there will be no judging eyes.