On the other side

I recently connected with an old high school friend through myspace. Apparently, she's residing in Southern California, a.k.a., the Other Coast. I perused her photos, and seriously, every picture she has is of her on the beach, on a yacht, on a yacht by the beach, in a tent that's near a beach that's near a yacht; and wearing a tank top and shorts, a halter top and shorts, a sun dress, or a swimsuit.

Right now I'm picking a fuzzy lint off of my gray turtleneck sweater, and I can't help but once again envy those folks with their perpetual sunny weather and perpetual sunny demeanor.

Strangely though, she recently posed the following question on her bulletin board: "Should I move back east?"

Move back? But, why?

A myriad of responses appeared on her message board. A common response was being closer to family. Fair enough. That's legit. Though quite frankly that's the reason why some people move away.

And there were other reasons. Good food, fat people, winters with damp scarves and windchill factors, and cab drivers who say "fuck you" for no reason whatsoever.

Was this a dysfunctional symbiotic relationship she had with the east coast? Or perhaps the greener grass wasn't as green as she hoped. Maybe she wanted the less green grass, the yellower grass with its patchy growth, pet droppings and broken glass.

Ultimately, I suspect that there is something fundamentally irreplaceable about whatever place we call home; and while the grass may be greener on the other side, it's just that: the other side. It's not Home.