History

I grew up in Santa Barbara, California. Do you remember the Richard Scarry Busy Town books? Where the library is across the street from the post office, the zoo and the museum are big enough to be interesting, but small enough that parents let their children roam free, and the town contains so many geographic features that it must have been a page ripped from a child's book of land and water formations? Yeah, that was my little town.

Fast forward to 17 years old, living in Atlanta, Georgia. How we got there is a long story, maybe another day. The idyllic reality I had grown up in was suddenly thrust into a new light. As in, most people would not consider Santa Barbara reality. Atlanta had so many things that my little Santa Barbara had not. And I tried to like it. I don't mean I gave it a chance, I mean I tried my damnedest to make myself like that place. To the point of each day being a struggle. I would frantically try to find the beauty all around me and force myself to appreciate it. Uh, yeah. It didn't work.

 I learned a lot from the big city, but it was never my home. As soon as I finished college I got the heck out of dodge and headed back west, to the unreal reality I grew up with. I calmed down. I remembered to breathe. I learned to let things wash over me, and to take them as they came.

This grown up thing is hard. But the best thing to do when struggling up a hill is just throw it into second and cruise.