Sometimes in our quest to find ourselves, we really find what we already so fortunately have.
One day, my friend told me that she was moving to South America because she felt like, whatever she was meant to become, she wasn’t going to become it here. (Here was Washington, DC, and for what it’s worth, I feel like DC seems pretty big and “discovery-ready” for many people. It was for me at the time, anyway.) There’s always a certain air of pretentiousness, of privilege, surrounding blanket statements like that. We were having coffee in a city I had long dreamed of coming to, and she couldn’t wait to shed it off of her like a molting snake. I suddenly felt embarrassed over being so excited about DC, like it was only a stepping stone when she was moving onto The Real Thing.
She came back two years later. She was tanner, and thinner, and had longer hair. From what I could tell, though, she was pretty…
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