Thursday, June 7, 2012

Franklin

As I sit here, procrastinating packing for my trip to Michigan next week, I can't help but think about how last year that statement would have read "As I sit here, procrastinating for my trip HOME next week" but the realization I've come to is that Paw Paw isn't really my home anymore.

What does it mean? What makes a place home? It's definitely not family, because, although mine is scattered about the country, California houses none of them. Is it friends? Because I have those all over. It's not a house per say, I live in an apartment in a Russian neighborhood with a goat down the street. I honestly don't know what it is, or even the moment when Los Angeles became my home. But last month, fellow blogger, Kevin was visiting and as we were visiting my friend at his bar overlooking the city I honestly COULD NOT even think about living somewhere else. Yeah, sure, LA is smoggy and traffic-y and expensive, but it's also beautiful, and exciting and so vast and different. 

Recently I've gone back to the old, but good, Franklin, by Paramore. It's the best feeling when a song perfectly expresses you thoughts. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm very excited to go back and I'm stoked to get to hang with the people who are left in Michigan, but more ideally, I'd like them all in California, with me. But at the moment, the places I go, the people around me, and the possibilities before me are perfect, and I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Does anyone else get this feeling? Where did you move to/from? What makes a location a home for you? 


Here's a link to the title song: Franklin

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