Growing up.

We just drove through Everett.

Everything has stayed the same.

A time capsule frozen.

The city’s heart beats, but it’s life seems stuck in a timeless coma.

The houses I once called home still stand with the same paint jobs I gave them to make money in the summer of ‘88.

Weather and time have taken their toll.

Where paint has chipped, rust stains drip down the walls.

Are the people living inside too complacent to make a change?

The shrubs have grown.

A vine arch tethered by two plastic pots has been erected in the front of the walkway.

It appears like a motivated idea with unfortunate execution.

Perhaps this project inspired defeat and is why the house has not been painted.

It’s been 17 years since I left this home.

Nearly half of my lived life.

Yet seeing it feet in front of me, I half expect to be able to walk in the front door and see my dog Kalina anxiously greet me.

My mom putting on her make-up and readying for a night of Bingo.

And my 13 year old self getting ready to stage a Madonna concert on the furniture for the 400th time.

All of this fresh in my mind as though it is yesterday.

But the paint on the outside of the house reminds me that it was not yesterday.

The 14 years of silence between me and my mother reminds me that it was not yesterday.

My boyfriend asleep in the front seat and one of my best friends for 17 years driving me reminds me that it was not yesterday.

It is nice to be reminded where I’ve been and where I came from.

It helps me appreciate who I am and all that I have.

As we are pulling into Seattle, the distinct skyline reminds me of the journey that lies ahead and the path I’ve been on to get to here.

Its been long and fruitful.

Challenging and fulfilling.

Cursed and blessed.

And I can’t imagine wanting it any other way.

sent from my Treo