Thoughts of moving have been revolving in my head lately. Moving back to my homeland, San Diego. Start anew. Till the soil. Sell the house, quit the job, pack the cat in a trash bag, and head back west. I look at the idea of moving this way: Very soon I'll be 32 and legally single; I've never been particularly close to my family; I'm not pining for anyone; my job is pride and a paycheck.
So the question is, What's here for me? Well, straight off, my friends.
They are my family. But I'm fairly certain that at least 2 or 3 of them would be willing to step off with me into the semi-unknown. Matt. Max and Laurie. Maybe Sheena and her beau. Their company would suffice. Hell, we've got half a coed softball team right there.
So what is it then? Am I afraid of yet another Life-Altering Event so soon after my whirlwind engagement-marriage-divorce? Are the distinct changing of the seasons that important? Or am I scared of failing? No, no, it's not that. It's not that at all. It's much more simple and much more complex:
It's the comfort of the local TV news anchors I've been watching for the past 16 years.
