family values

I am: uncomfortably warm in my house.
I am: wearing a sweatshirt to conceal the permanent ink on my arms.
I am: listening to music that makes me think of bike paths and snow and dogs who carry heavy racial undertones.
I am: thinking about fale floors in samoa while I sit on my own floor- wishing with everything to be back on an island, just for a minute, so I can again be filled up with that wanderlust that consumed me last year.

I decided the other day that this will be my last Christmas in Eugene. Hold me to that, computerbot. Every time I come back here it seems a little less exciting and a lot more obligation. I remember that first trip home in November of freshman year; my stomach was jumping as that little plane landed. Off the plane, I inhaled Oregon, the soaking air that smells clean and comforting... a pseudo-tangible blanket of moisture, an exact definition of “refreshing.” I’m here, four years later, just itching to get the fuck out as soon as possible. My absence has been just long enough to see those people I knew and high school and feel little responsibility to fuel the half-hearted catch up game I’ve been so inclined to do in past visits.
I realized that when I tell stories about “home,” I’m referring to Boulder. This isn’t home anymore, and that’s weird. 18 years of my life on the same streets, at the same restaurants and houses and movie theaters and parks and back seats and beaches and fireplaces all of a sudden feel so lifeless and foreign to me. Maybe my outlook has changed, or maybe everything has changed.
My family: another amenity of my old life that has discinigrated in my absence. What was once a sacred event full of love and joy and drunken uncles and cheesy pictures is lost to a paper-tearing massive consuming revelry. Depressing. At least my Grandma got in some good accusations,I believe she beat her old record and produced one directed towards every single person in the family [she’s good at making people feel bad]. It was sad. I was told that the great thing about friends is that they’re the family that you get to choose (oh, and if you’re reading this…I didn’t hang up on you.), and I see this more in my life every day. Last night I was sitting around a warm room with a cold beer and good friends. I felt safe, overflowing with a happy contentment, and knew that these are the kind of people I want to surround myself with for the rest of my life. I’m not saying I don’t feel a deep love for my family, especially my dad and grandfather who I’ve decided win the honor of being the two Greatest Men in the Entire Universe, but I won’t sacrifice the real relationships I have for the sake of ancestral contract. Get me out of here.
My definition of family at this moment is someone who slow walks their bike home with you or kisses the pain out of your cigarette burn.