Waking up on Saturdays

Most days I wake up thankful, well, let’s be honest…most days I wake up, tired and groggy because I am not a morning person. But today I woke up, missing Santa Barbara.

I miss strolling though the Saturday farmers market. I miss the ocean breeze and running into people I know downtown. I miss Mesa Lane, the Good Cup, Panino sandwiches and sitting on grass. I miss going to the beach with friends and hearing my students call me Miss Acker. I miss trader joes and being able to buy pre-cut veggies and ready-to-eat chicken. I miss Santa Barbara sunsets and the purple hills behind. I miss people and places that can’t be packed in a suitcase. And I miss the smells and sounds that can’t be captured with a photo.

This is what they call homesick, right? I think it’s normal every now and then.

For anyone who has ever moved or packed up your life into two suitcases you know that you must leave something behind, in order to receive what’s to come. But sometimes, there’s a still a missing for what was left. Ingrid Michaelson’s song “Maybe” played on repeat in my car all last spring while I was packing up, storing away and saying good-byes. This line always struck me,

 

“oh, the only way to really know is to really let it go”

So, I let it go. I let a lot go. And some days, especially on Saturdays I miss it.

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