I’m finding that one of the strangest phenomenons in life occurs when, while traveling on a straight path through life, you find yourself inevitably back where you started. In this case, literally.

But it’s inevitably different.

After 20 some years of moving around, going to school, and meandering in general, I find myself back in Penngrove, on the same property where I was first “socialized” — in the Freudian sense. I walk down the gravel path to the house I first called home for 4 years, and it almost feels like another life. But, I suppose it was.

Transitional periods, as they are commonly called, are suppossed to be comforting. “It’s only a transitional period,” they say, trying to reassure you that the impulse to run around in circles while alternating between screaming, crying, and laughing, is normal, expected even. But the trouble with this kind of advice is that it does NOTHING, because all you can really do is wait for things to stop transitioning.

But do they? And when life stands still, do we not stand in the midst and declare boredom, or depression? I’m rather inclined to think that every moment in life is some kind of transition, and we are partly immune to the sensation – like not feeling the spin of the earth. And for this I thank whatever needs thanking.

It’s odd, because we think we are the same person – but we’re not, technically we have a brand-spanking-new body ever 8 years or so. You are not the same cells you were when you were a baby, or eight, or 14 (thank God). But usually we don’t wake up and suddenly feel different – it creeps up on us quietly. But change that occurs outside ourselves, that’s the bitch; it hides in the grass like a tiger, slowly flexing it’s muscles, winding up for the pounce that will really knock us on our ass.

Sometimes change is hard to see, sometimes it cannot be ignored. In my current case, it is impossible to ignore. Suddenly, all in the course of a few hours I’ve left Sacramento and Davis with all my wordly possessions and moved to the country where I first became worldly.

There are perks, of course. I will (soon) have my own house rent free, I can walk outside into nature without climbing stairs or driving 40 minutes, and I’m free of the petulance that is Sacramento. Plus I spot the occasional llama, deer, and rabbit – and the less occasional turkey, cat, or horse – which is oddly reassuring. (maybe it’s because in disaster movies the animals always leave before bad stuff happens).

One blink, and everything around me is different. To me, change is neither bad nor good – like pretty much everything in life it’s both, at all the appropriate and innappropriate times.

And, in the words of the song I’m listening to, Davis – “I’m not over you just yet, you’re not that easy to forget.”

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