Sometimes I wonder if our 'golden' days were those hazy, summer days that melted into the evening, that ended in the early morning, outside our local neighborhood Starbucks.

I wonder if we knew then how great those nights were. Days that blended into each other, no realization that one day, not far from then, every single one of us would go our separate ways, and that group, that indelible group, the group that bonded over uno games and late night caffeine, would never reconnect in the same way after that summer ended.

I think, sometimes, that we had everything we wanted. Friends, love, small town coziness and big town dreams.

Before break-ups, and disappointments, before responsibility hit us across our faces, and before we were let down, and our hearts were broken.

And it faded away as quickly as it appeared, and now we're scattered, and the friendships have changed, the love has come and gone, and Starbucks, well, I still drink it fondly.

I think I know which direction I want to go.
And even as I write this, life throws a few other kinks into the mix, and my ideas fly out the window and settle somewhere in the breeze.

I may get to keep my lungs, but I'll lose my gallbladder. The sooner the better, as a ten pound weight loss is impeding on my ability to breathe.

I started class, and am becoming increasingly unsure if this is the right major. Science is just so ... unyielding. I'd like a little more creativity and flow in my life.

I love this heat, the muggy warm nights, the salty sea air, and yet ... I'm a fall baby. I crave those crisp, clean, cool September, October days that I grew up with. The apple orchards, winding New England roads, small town diners and Cape Cod cottages, orange, red, yellow trees. How do you take a Massachusetts girl and expect her to survive ninety degree heat all year round?

And what's that you say? No sweaters in Florida? It's too warm for boots? It doesn't ... snow???

Seriously. What was I thinking.

and we're home;

I spent the entire summer exploring this vast, incredible country I call home.

New Mexico. Arizona. California. Oregon. Washington. Montana. Wyoming. South Dakota. Colorado. Missouri. Tennessee. And Florida, always Florida.

It was exhausting, exhilarating, and a once in a lifetime adventure.

We drove the Pacific Highway, from Los Angeles to San Francisco, and then we found the redwoods. Which were just as big as I remembered. I stood at the top of the Grand Canyon and couldn't quite take in what I was seeing. We splashed our feet in the Pacific, and drank tea in Portland. We shopped in Seattle and drove through hilly San Francisco. We spent the night on an island in Washington, an island so quiet that a person could hear deer munching in the yard. Which they did quite often. Along with frolicking, and whatever else deer do. We experienced the big sky that is Montana, and fell in love with a little town called Whitefish. We drove the Going to the Sun Road, and walked through snow at the top of the Glacier National Park mountains. In July. We discovered cowboy country, and found a town with a population of four. Just four. We spent days without cell service, and decided to buy a ranch in Wyoming. Maybe. Someday. I got wheeled around Mount Rushmore when my lungs took the day off, and we ate frozen yogurt while admiring the good men carved into the mountain. We experienced the beauty that is the Rockies, and the height that is the Mile High city. We stood under the St. Louis arch and got to know Nashville.

We made it home, in one piece and with a car full of mementos.
And a lifetime worth of memories.