Wish you were here... (going back to the IC)
After six days away it’s back to the daily grind at UCI.
My time in Iowa City was way too short. I might have been gone for almost a week, but I spent two whole days traveling. Time in transit is weird to me, especially when I fly: I’m going somewhere, but I don’t seem to be getting there. Every airport has the same chairs, the same restaurants and shops, the same sterilized, made-up feel. It’s like I get on a cramped plane and fly in a giant circle to the same place, only somehow it’s been rearranged and resized, and the scenery is different. It’s lost and unproductive time. I can’t do anything but make it tolerable with a book and my iPod (my trip back was the first with my iPod, Mookie).
(For the titles of my trip related posts I’m taking a page from old school postcards. You know — the ones with a painted paradise scene and the words “Wish you were here” written in a location appropriate script? Or am I just imagining those? For the sake of this post let’s say they exist, especially since this will count as my writing for the day.)
It was good to go back home. I’d been in Southern California all year, so it was nice to get away and see the Midwest again. It gave me an opportunity to relax and hang out, and to contrast and compare my new home with the place I grew up. I already know I’ll be heading back to the Midwest and probably Iowa City in the future, but California is the best place in the world to be young and adventurous. My trip back last week was the first time I could accurately measure my accomplishments and see if I’d taken my life down the right path.
There are lots of things I miss about home. Like
the colorful, falling leaves in the fall,
trees trees trees (real trees, trees in every yard, trees along every street),
the Blue Baller,
the traffic,
giant cows,
and home (where I grew up — South Side!).
There are all sorts of things I didn’t take pictures of (the Foxhead, the Que Bar, Prairie Lights, the quiet and still nights, the west steps of the Old Captiol, Kinnick filled to capacity, lazy afternoons laying on the grass under a tree, the sunsets) but I did take a couple pictures of my old room at my parent’s house. The oddest thing from the entire trip was walking in and seeing everything I’d left behind — all my posters, furniture, and memories. I saw who I was and how I used to live. It was like meeting myself. Even though I hadn’t forgotten anything, none of it had crossed my mind since leaving. It made me realize I’ve branched out and become an established and independent man who is learning and growing as a writer. And that I have some cool shit back home.
My time in Iowa City was way too short. I might have been gone for almost a week, but I spent two whole days traveling. Time in transit is weird to me, especially when I fly: I’m going somewhere, but I don’t seem to be getting there. Every airport has the same chairs, the same restaurants and shops, the same sterilized, made-up feel. It’s like I get on a cramped plane and fly in a giant circle to the same place, only somehow it’s been rearranged and resized, and the scenery is different. It’s lost and unproductive time. I can’t do anything but make it tolerable with a book and my iPod (my trip back was the first with my iPod, Mookie).
(For the titles of my trip related posts I’m taking a page from old school postcards. You know — the ones with a painted paradise scene and the words “Wish you were here” written in a location appropriate script? Or am I just imagining those? For the sake of this post let’s say they exist, especially since this will count as my writing for the day.)
It was good to go back home. I’d been in Southern California all year, so it was nice to get away and see the Midwest again. It gave me an opportunity to relax and hang out, and to contrast and compare my new home with the place I grew up. I already know I’ll be heading back to the Midwest and probably Iowa City in the future, but California is the best place in the world to be young and adventurous. My trip back last week was the first time I could accurately measure my accomplishments and see if I’d taken my life down the right path.
There are lots of things I miss about home. Like
the colorful, falling leaves in the fall,
trees trees trees (real trees, trees in every yard, trees along every street),
the Blue Baller,
the traffic,
giant cows,
and home (where I grew up — South Side!).
There are all sorts of things I didn’t take pictures of (the Foxhead, the Que Bar, Prairie Lights, the quiet and still nights, the west steps of the Old Captiol, Kinnick filled to capacity, lazy afternoons laying on the grass under a tree, the sunsets) but I did take a couple pictures of my old room at my parent’s house. The oddest thing from the entire trip was walking in and seeing everything I’d left behind — all my posters, furniture, and memories. I saw who I was and how I used to live. It was like meeting myself. Even though I hadn’t forgotten anything, none of it had crossed my mind since leaving. It made me realize I’ve branched out and become an established and independent man who is learning and growing as a writer. And that I have some cool shit back home.
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