Like most succinct, witty sayings, the saying that ‘one can never go home again’ is a bit hyperbolic – possibly erroneous. I am home again, leastways. My mom and dad make me coffee in a french press and ply me with prosciutto and spinach quiche, as well as financial support, interesting conversations and affection. I’ve never loved North Carolina as I have in the past two weeks. Big, blue skies, budding trees, clean air, and my friends and family. Two and a half years have gone by since I’ve seen my friends from here, and it took me until my mid-twenties to understand – to worry – that friendships can fade. Kelly is in New Orleans studying art or literature or a combination thereof, and Lauren is in grad school in Georgia to become a therapist. Maria was out of town visiting an old friend, which should be forgiven because she met me in Thailand. I could go on- so many people who were dear to me who have moved away and with whom I do not keep in contact. That’s life, they tell me. They tell you all about life, don’t they?
I guess this is life after being an undergraduate. I am a bit stunted because I was an undergraduate for far too long, and then I moved to Korea and did not have what is considered a real job or a real life. God, how lonely I was sometimes! To be back with my mom and dad is just wonderful. The town my parents live in, and now where I live, is a bedroom community of Raleigh. It’s less intimidating than Chapel Hill, my college town, because I don’t have to force myself to be anybody. Also, I managed to make myself so god damned miserable in Chapel Hill. My first time back there was overwhelming. It’s a tiny place littered with my failings and insecurities. Hey, what are you going to do? I have foibles.
My parents and my cool Aunt Peggy (as she has always been known) have a membership to this sweet ass gym. Aunt Peggy has taken me to my first yoga classes. They are a little bit ridiculous, like the stance they call downward dog and saying Namaste at the end, because at least the Namaste part is such an exploitation of the foreign or pandering or something, but anyway, I like it. I like the idea, even if I fail over and over, of getting into better shape, and the novel. God how I love the novel. I thought how great it would be, while in Thailand, to backpack for months and months. To have everything you need in an 80 gallon bag and see new things over and over and over.
I don’t really know what I’ll do with this, ahem, blog (what a nasty word). I can just change the name, I suppose, and keep on keeping on. After all, to change the name would be new to me, and that is all I really want. A changing, interesting landscape.
