I woke up to rain on this first day of May. Fitting and unsurprising seeing as how the weather has been rebelling since October. But today I savored the rain, since it made me think of how I will soon be home, able to cuddle up with a beverage and a book, though it probably won't be wet outside.
Though the thought of glorified laze excites me, this is the least anxious I've been to go home since I left for Vassar. I'm not sure whether it's how wonderful this semester/HAIR has been, the fact that I don't want to believe I'm halfway through college, or if home is just less appealing. A combination of the three, I'm sure. It's a strange sensation. I'm not itching to get back to the west coast. I think I've finally tipped the scales; there are more people that matter here (even though the important people at home matter more). I'm only invested in a few relationships back home; my life, piece by piece, is moving over here. Less of me stays in San Diego each time I leave. It doesn't mean I don't love it, or my family and friends. I just... love it here a little more. This is my identity.
It kind of scares me that I'm not pumped about going home. Will I be unhappy halfway through the summer? Should I miss it more? What do my feelings say about me? Maybe I'm just becoming a more independent being.
I should really just focus on how grateful I am that a decision made largely on a whim and a gut feeling is keeping me so happy two years later. How did I know? How did I know this place would be where I found true love, true happiness, true friends? True struggles, too, but that's part of the package. And I'm glad.
I can't wait to have time to read dozens of books and sing songs and exercise and make money and relax on the beach... but I also can't wait to get back here (OK, Moscow first) and keep reveling in the best years of my life.
I sometimes think we are insane to ever wish to go home. Because, shit, these years are priceless. And we'll only live them once.