Home is where the heart is

I've done some traveling, but never for an extended period of time. The total number of days I've actually been outside California could probably be easily crammed into a single year with lots of room to spare. That said, I have several places right here in the Bay Area that I could call home. Home isn't where you spend most of your time - if that were true, a lot of people would be calling the workplace home, and for most of us, that place is anything but. Home is a place that welcomes you. There may be nothing deep about that, but then, happiness isn't always a deep thing. You could at times, have very deeply-seated philosophical foundations for a feeling of peace or contentment, and lots of people seem to go about seeking higher truths that will give them that feeling every day, all the time - religion, philosophy, yoga, etc.

I don't know much about that... but those blissfully naive moments of happiness that I'm talking about for today are those that neither arise from the Id nor derive from the Superego, and have nothing to do with a little devil or angel sitting on one's shoulder. I don't normally think about why I'm happy when I'm happy. I just am. Depression lends itself to self-analysis; depression is uncomfortable and unpleasant and makes one wonder why things have to be this way. Happiness doesn't lend itself to introspection nearly as readily; if you're happy, who cares why?

No thoughts necessary for the moment. Steam rises from a freshly poured cup of green tea. It's the second cup; as with most good (real) tea, the second brewing is better than the first; not as astringent, more flavor. This tea isn't sweetened; dessert is for later. The seat across from me is empty, attended only by a crumpled napkin and an empty teacup. A friend of mine was just sitting there. We'd been talking pleasantly for hours but it was time for her to hurry back; plane to catch back to Southern California. "Don't worry about the bill; I've got it this time."

I take a sip and lean back into the wicker chair, which creaks slightly. These chairs see a lot of use, and a few of them need repairing. It's all good - it's not going to collapse with me in it. I haven't seen this room very often in the past year, and it's nice to be here again. So many memories, and all crafted within a few years? I'm not sure. It might have been two. It might have been six, but that's all beside the point. Time is a poor measure of things. The two years I've spent working have so far been the fastest years of my life, because they were so repetitive. But a year spent in school seems to last much longer, mostly in a good way. I might have been coming to this place every day for a year, or only once every few months, but the only thing that's really different about some of these visits is the intensity of nostalgia that accompanies walking through the door. And after that, it's home. I wrote most of my law school applications here. I've often come here after work, to take tea and a nap. I read the first four Harry Potter books sitting at the table on the other side of the room. I've been brought here by friends, and I've brought friends here. I sometimes study for finals here, too. That collection of little books on the shelf - I've read them all. I know the menu inside and out. This place is a little like a bar for people who don't drink beer. Even if the analogy isn't a strong one, it's Cheers to me.

Here, I'm not so much a law student, a martial artist, an engineer, or an economist, as I am myself. If places could get up from a table and give hugs, this would be one of them.