Driving home from work this evening, exhausted from a day of working the reference desk and programs and trying to be in three places at once, I watched the sun cast its final delicate, pinkish glow over the Little San Bernardinos. My eyes slid over to the west, where the last bit of sunlight was fading away over the San Gorgonio Pass, and all of a sudden, I was seized with an inexplicable wanderlust. I had been on my way to have sushi for dinner—the thought of fixing anything at home, as tired as I was, made me want to weep—but then I began to contemplate continuing to drive, past the casino, past the sushi place, right up to the freeway, with no destination in mind. The evening was my own, no one would expect me for hours…

And just as suddenly as it flared, my wanderlust died. I imagined driving west, through the Armpit Empire, straight on to LA…where I knew pretty much no one. No one, that is, except for one indifferent Persian grump of an ex-boyfriend who inexplicably de-friended me on Facebook). The thought of driving around a region where no one knows you or gives a damn one way or another can pretty much put a damper on any sort of adventurous tendencies that drift about in my rather sedate soul.

Of course, after that flight of fancy passed through me, I was left with some interesting thoughts. Why was it that the thought of anonymity was suddenly so off-putting to me? It occurred to me that it’s the people that make a place and help make a life within that place, and without people, it can get pretty rootless. I thought the Cyborg, and how unattached I felt to SoCal after we broke up, and then about Jason, and the friends that I’ve made, and my job. Still not many roots, but they are growing deeper all the time. I think that is what started to become a little overwhelming about SoCal this year—I didn’t have a lot of close people or friends out here, and so it felt like there was nothing to reflect back on me, no anchors of identity. And that’s what it boils down to—identity. Like it or not, my friends and people reflect who I am, and if they aren’t around…well, then, who am I?

Of course, the flip side of that coin is that sometimes, the people who know you begin to piegeonhole you into their perception of you, and then you can internalize them. At least when you move to a new place where there’s no one who knows you, there’s no one to force their perceptions onto you…until you open up your mouth. Just because you move doesn’t mean your baggage doesn’t get to come along.

So it’s just as well I stuck around for sushi.