as the wind dies down

Last week, I found myself straddling the line of nostalgia and quicksand. I love being home, especially when the weather is good (which is was for about 2 hours of the entire week), because it's familiar. I like walking into the Washington Plaza Starbucks and sitting in the corner to read. I like wandering through Columbia Center mall and remembering the time when I played bigger or better for Bethany Lotz's birthday. I like parking at the end of Newcomer and just watching the old men walk by, just like they have for the past 50 years.

But then I find myself avoiding familiar places, because I know it means familiar people. Not friends, just casual acquaintances that you're obligated to say hello to but there is clearly no reason for conversation besides obligation. People assume you never left town and are just doing what you always do, in the places you always do it. But I'm not the same person I was 3 years ago. I don't make out by the backstop in Leslie Groves or spend 4 hours a day at some team practice or, god forbid, roller skate. Sure I still have a lot of the same interests, likes and dislikes, but I also have encountered many new likes, dislikes, and interests. I've kicked a lot of the bad habits I held onto in high school, and inevitably developed new ones. As a result I end up just getting annoyed with people who either assume that time has frozen since 2005, or who ask "how's school" because they feel like they have to.

(And if you haven't seen it, the Hanford High auditorium is spectacular. I wouldn't have even recognized it as the same building.)