I’m back in the Bay Area again for a few days, which marginally explains my reticence. I’m not in the so-called “hip” part of the Bay, but I am in perhaps the most recently famous one (that being Silicon Valley).

Call me crazy, but it’s a bit depressing here.
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Nearly the moment I got off my plane, into a rental car, and onto the 101, I drove up next to my old truck. It wasn’t my old truck, mind you; my old truck is safely participating in drive-bys in LA. It was a similar model, year, and color, though. Enough so that I felt like I was looking at myself in a what-might-have-been version of my future self. I didn’t look happy. I looked like I was still bitter from being laid-off, like I was tired of living in an uninteresting suburb, like I was sick of not knowing my neighbors or having anything more interesting to do than go to “The City”. My perspective is skewed, I realized.

One thing I do know, biased as it is: I’m glad to live in SoCal.

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