Thursday, August 20, 2009
As philosophical as I can get with the twins having a screaming competition and only a half cup of coffee to my brain.
While on my travels I visited places that I had once called home. Places where I built a life. Places which are still so familiar and yet are changing.
Changing without me there to watch it morph.
Life marches on.
It still surprises me how quickly I can revert to my previous 'lives', if you will, when I head back into a place that I once called my hometown. I take the same familiar shortcuts, I run by the favorite coffee shop. I hit my favorite beach where I know the tourists won't come. I go to my favorite running trail, the one that winds along the river.
I slip back in to fitting in.
An aquaintance once told me that I was a 'chameleon'. I don't think it was meant in a flattering way. They were talking about the characteristics of people from various regions of the country and how I blended in with those groups, regardless of how wide-flung they might be.
Chameleon or not, I can claim diverse areas of the country as home.
My roots are in the South. The waters of the Atlantic, the Pacific and the Gulf have all been in my proverbial backyard. I've lived in the mountains and I've lived in the Plains.
It changes a girl.
My mom laughs about when we moved to the upper East Coast after having lived in the South. When addressing my elementary school buddies, I would call them, "Y'all guys."
That would still fit.
A personality stitched from the patchwork of places and people of my past.
It feels good to be back to the stretch of yard I now call home. The sand of my previous habitation is sprinkled in the back of my van. I still have a few things left to put away from the suitcase from my Sooner trip. There are little items and remembrances from the time on the road.
All little bits of the things that shape me.
It still feels like the most natural thing to say.