Wishing I Could Go Home Again

This has been a very rough summer for me. Those of you who have had the fortitude to spend any time in my company are aware of that. I love you all.
I’ve spent this past week sorting through 2000 books that I won’t read, too-big clothes that I’ll never wear again, and boxes of keepsakes that make me sigh. I need to lose half of what I own before the inevitable big move.
No, I don’t know where I’ll be going. Kaimuki? Ashland? Los Altos? Tibet?
Yesterday I found that I could not bring myself to trash the receipts from my trip to Ashland last summer. One year ago today I flew into San Francisco International where I sat on the floor with my bags, trying very hard to believe that you, Bob, would not stand me up. It just now made me laugh to remember that I was actually surprised when you came through the door.
That whole day and evening were surreal. Had you been able to hear my thoughts you would have been so bored. They would have all sounded something like, “Holy smokes! I was in Honolulu and now I’m on I-5 with Bob! Am I awake? I can’t believe I’m passing Mt. Shasta with Bob! Who woulda thunk it? I’m sitting in a restaurant overlooking Ashland Creek with Bob! What’s up with all these bees? This is so bizarre; I’m eating veal scaloppini at Callahan’s with Bob! I’m on our room’s deck at a B&B, breathing in the scent of sunburnt blackberries, gazing at the stars over the Siskiyou mountains, drinking merlot with Bob! One year ago today my wildest dreams wouldn't have placed me in Ashland, Oregon with Bob.”
Speaking of bored, you’re a good man for taking me to see all of my old homes. That was above and beyond…and I think that is when I started crying all the time. I’m sorry. You probably didn’t understand. I’m not sure I did. Sometimes I was crying because I couldn’t reconcile ‘things’. Sometimes I was crying because I missed my parents. Sometimes it was because I missed myself, if that makes any sense. At least once I cried because I knew I couldn’t stay there for years with you. I probably shouldn’t say that, but there it is.
I’ll remember it all forever. I know I’ve told you “thank-you” before, but never the way I really wanted to. We stopped having long conversations and I never found the chance. I could never adequately thank you for the smell of pine needles and Oregon dust. The comfort of familiar sidewalks. Shakespeare. The Rogue River. Manzanita. Lithia water. Poison oak. Stopping at that drive-thru coffee place on the way out of Jacksonville. Walking me around my old pink church. You eating half my meals, thereby preventing me from feeling guilt over starving children in Bangladesh. Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis. Northpoint Gallery. Nob Hill.
You are the best!
And so, what does all of this have to do with me being miserable this summer?
It’s this.
I looked at those receipts, then the photos, and I felt very sorry for myself. I thought, *How things change! Last summer I was so happy and now I feel so lost and afraid.* But then – epiphany! If things changed so dramatically from last year to this, maybe by this time next year they will have changed again! Last summer was wonderful. This summer is awful! Who knows what the coming months will bring? Certainly, a new marital status. Necessarily, a new job. Maybe a new city? Someone who will love me as much as I love him? A cure for snoring? More than four hours of sleep in a row?
Perhaps it's worth it to hang in there and wait to see.