It’s ironic that I’m in San Diego today, six years to the exact date I left my life in California behind for a new one in Indiana.
At the time, leaving was the scariest thing I’d ever done. Everything that was familiar … my house, the home I grew up in, my parents, sisters and friends, every street I ever drove down and all the places I navigated without a GPS map, every school I attended and job I worked, my entire history and every memory I made … they were all in the rearview mirror as I drove from west to east, from oceans and palm trees to fields of green and gold, and towering leafy trees.
It’s ironic that I was so terrified to leave the place and surroundings that I never even felt like I belonged. I guess there’s truth to the saying that the universe has to make you uncomfortable, otherwise you’ll never move.
As I sit here writing this on the sandy beach, watching the waves of the Pacific Ocean crash into the shore, I’m reminded that this city — the place I no longer call home — will always be a part of my soul. San Diego is in my blood and I’m grateful it gave me my start.