Home is where ...

I was looking for two major things when I moved back to NorCal: a church that felt like home, and a community of friends who truly loved me. I spent my first three weeks back in despair of finding these things up here. I kept telling myself that it had only been three weeks and that eventually I would find community up north like I had once had down south.

This past week I traveled south and found myself surrounded by friends who truly love me, and was welcomed back into a church that feels like home.

Why am I looking for something I already have?

Two comments made by different people this weekend are ringing in my ears, "we love you and we aren't the same without you," and "don't stop yourself from doing something just because you're scared of what might happen."

OK, so they're both paraphrases, but they've both got me thinking about what the heck I'm doing up here. In fact, the second comment has me all kerflummoxed about life in general...but that's way too scary a topic to address on a blog.

I love my hometown: I love the crisp weather, the blustery rain, the oak-spotted hillsides. The fog pours over the western hills in the morning, coating the world in a thin layer of dew, pushing eastward the faintest touch of the sea. The coffee is strong, the books are heavy, the music is earnest, the laughter is ironic. In my part of the world, to be different is expected, and to be the same is anathema.

It is a region of artistic freedom, cultural awareness, political manipulation and spiritual darkness.

It's home. And I love it.

But, with the massive exception of my parents, the people I love and the people who love me are about 400 miles south. So, it looks like I'll be packing my heavy books, my funky jewelry, my ironic smile and heading south again. I'm not sure when -- probably not for a few months -- but eventually.

The reason behind the couple months wait will most likely be the subject of my next blog entry. But I've gotta get confirmation first.

What a difference a week makes.