Going Home Again
Going home is like reversing time: an impossibility but one of nostalgic longing. It's like asking for the past to be undone, for routes to change, and for life-altering, crushing, and defining events to be discolored and morph into another reality outside the bounds of reason. The mode of memory is one path to traverse, as memory and the past rarely work in a straightforward, linear manner. A moment wrought in angst can evolve into a window of petite clarity and a hunger for more. Life is complicated and non-linear like that. In July, I spent a week back in Seattle , as I'm from Tacoma . I've always felt more comfortable in the PNW than in most places, ironically enough, and altogether, I was there (in the region) for about two weeks. Along the way, as I exited south, I stopped in Tacoma. Curiosity consumed my soul, and a part of me needed to reconcile some lingering emotions from a youth lost in time and legal tangles. I drove, ta...