issue 248

I was worried that by moving home, I would lose my edge. Moving to Oakland was like embarking on my own vision quest. In an effort to find myself, I shed everything I had once known, besides my beloved boyfriend, and moved across the country. I had no job, a little money, one relative and an adventure. It didn’t take me long to realize that my vision may have been slightly skewed when I chose to move to the Bay Area. Sitting in my boss’ office holding crystals and meditating in the middle of a marketing meeting to regain my clarity sort of opened my eyes. I’m a weird girl, just not that weird. I didn’t identify with the constant yoga, alfalfa sprouts and tarot cards, but I did grow a great deal out there. For one, I learned how much home really meant to me, and what that word meant to me. Home is not where you lay your hat; it truly is where you leave your heart. And mine was not in California. But as we said goodbye to California passing through the southeastern edge of the Mojave Desert, I worried I might be leaving behind more than just a place and some memories. Was it possible that I could be leaving behind the wisdom I had gained, this new person I had become? By moving home, was I really just moving back? Once, during a visit back to Florida before the big move, it occurred to me that my friends at home only saw the person I had left behind. This was the person they had known for years. They had seen me through my follies. They knew how to laugh at me and rarely took me seriously. Everything in California felt serious, and everyone treated me thus as well. After all, I was the big adventurer. I was the wanderer who had risked the life I had always known to find something with more grandeur. But I know now that the real grandeur comes in the smile of your mother when you’re laughing over dinner. It comes in the salty smell of the St John’s River, the breeze from the Atlantic, the beautiful Jacksonville skyline and the seven bridges we cross everyday. I just wondered if people at home would recognize this new grandeur? My cat did. After two flights in twelve hours, he walked out of his cat carrier and immediately went to the food bowl. Soon after, he was outside chewing on some grass and simply understood that we were back. The first few weeks in Jacksonville were similar to every other vacation home I had taken over the past five years: filled with visits to every friend and family member I hadn’t seen over the past year and the thrill of going to all my old favorite spots. One thing was missing, however- the anticipation of goodbye. Some things are different this time around. The initial shock of hello is wearing off and real life is settling in. I have started working. I go to the grocery store, to the doctor, to church on occasion. People have stopped wanting to hang out every day in order to squeeze in as much visit time as possible. I am becoming a local. I have even found a cute little bungalow in San Marco where I can hang my hat and even leave my heart. The other day my friend asked me, talking on the phone, if I was happy to be back. She seemed to have apprehension in her voice, and it dawned on me. I am happy. And, people can see the change. They even respect it, but I still throw it out there on occasion that I have just relocated from California. It’s like a Girl Scout badge. I want everyone to know what I’ve done. I feel different, and it’s important that everyone knows. My fear of losing the part of me that grew up inside the hard streets of Oakland is still there, but I also still check my locks every time I leave the house. I revel in the fact that there is readily available parking wherever you go, a novelty I had not even considered before. People think our strip malls are unattractive, but when it takes you half an hour to park whenever you leave your house, you start to appreciate them. A strip mall is just like a city, but with ample parking. Really, it’s just like southerners to be so polite. I still cook the recipes I learned when I was out there. And I still have my music. Now, when I drive around this driving town, I listen to the music that carried me through the Bay and back home again. My new me has melded with the old me. I realize now it’s not the place that changes you, but you that changes yourself. I made the choice, I made the move, and I made the return. I waved goodbye to the quest, but did not lose the vision.