Sometimes...

Sometimes the places I've traveled come back to haunt me.

Perhaps I shouldn't say "haunt", though. That implies a negative sensation, and I don't mean that at all. It's more like... being overtaken by a sudden conviction that I belong somewhere else. But where that is, I don't really know.

The other night, for example, as I was out jogging, I suddenly caught the scent of woodsmoke on the air (which is just starting to get the edge of a chill), and in that moment I was back in New Zealand, in the little town of Oxford where I lived about five years ago. I used to go for walks in the afternoon or early evenings; it was often cold and always quiet. As I thought of it, I felt a real pang, almost like homesickness. In my mind I could clearly see the line of trees that stand along a dirt road that branched off of one street. I loved walking between those trees. I remember the name of the road started with an "S", but it bothers me that I can't remember the rest.

Then there are times when I want to go somewhere—a certain restaurant maybe, or a store or a hiking spot—and I will realize with a sting of disappointment that the place I'm thinking of is in Berkeley (the Crepe Vine), or San Francisco (Golden Gate Park), Walnut Creek (Shell Ridge), or Christchurch (an AWESOME Thai restaurant), or Bangkok (um, LOTS of awesome Thai restaurants). Someplace that is miles and miles away, well beyond my LA horizon. It can be a little unsettling.

Sigh... Sometimes I just feel very far from home.