The giving brown sand, perfectly-laid-out hiking trails, Pliny the Elder, and needless to say, the mouth-watering burritos. I miss San Francisco, and California overall for that matter. My current disposition in Pennsylvania evokes a feeling of longing for the fantasy land of milk and honey. With that, I begin to understand that Pennsylvania is my reality, but California is still not out of reach.
Nostalgia is kindled as I scroll through thousands of pictures taken in my time spent there. The weather has been murky in Pennsylvania the last few days, and the lack of scenery/spots to adventure have prohibited my daily photo-walks. There’s always something interesting to capture in San Francisco; Porter can attest that by her countless sent texts detailing her daily oddities.
I might be rambling, but I feel like I’m getting old. I’m 24, still inhabiting my hometown. My body is wearing down; gym-workouts are more taxing than ever before. I fall asleep early (on most nights) and I rather drink early so I can fall asleep promptly. 24 is starting to be perceived as old in my eyes.
Nevertheless, it may just be because I witness the generational changeover in my area. For instance, the new group of high school gym-goers and the disappearance of my age-bracket. Or I notice the employees at the library or the GIANT supermarket, who have occupied those same positions since I was an unconfident, puny teen. I feel old because I’m witnessing what’s passing by while I remain still.
With that, I draw back to California, a long stretch of land which is primarily unchartered territory for me. My travels and occupancy in California will not prevent me from aging–probably age quicker–but it will be fresh, therefore, remind me that I’m only 24.