Growing up an Army brat, I never expected to live in any one place for more than four years.  Even when my parents bought their current house in Tacoma (their committment), I never imagined myself staying in Washington for the rest of my life.  I grew up with the skill of starting my life over again whenever I needed to.  I grew up with no attachments, no roots.

When someone asks where I am from, my answer is the entire list of places I’ve lived.  I don’t have a hometown.  I don’t have just one place where I can look back and say, “Yep, that’s where I grew up.”

Moving has been both a blessing and a curse.

Truthfully, I never thought that I would stay in Los Angeles for as long as I have.  This is the one place that has been the exception to the pattern of my life.  Seven years later, and I’m still not tired of this place.  Sure, I’m bored with it on occassion, but that can be cured by a long drive out of town.  There are still streets here that I have not been down.  Neighborhoods that I haven’t got lost in.  Places left to see.

Seven years, and this move will commit me to more.  I don’t know if I’m ready for that.  What if, after law school, I find that my life is leading me to another far away place, another place to start over?  Will I be afraid to take the risk because of this new committment?  Or have I finally found the place where I can call ‘home’?

I was worried coming back home this year, mostly because I feel that I have backtracked in my progress.  Even though I’ve had an amazing year while I was away, it doesn’t seem to matter when I am this close.

My mother and I got into an argument the other day.  It tired me because it was the same pedestrian fight that we’ve been involved in for far too long.  I understand her side of the argument; I know that she is only worried and wants what is best for me.  But she cannot seem to understand that doing things her way is exactly the opposite of what I want.  I need to find my own way and it’s hard to do when she continues to block my path.

Last year, I walked up to my mother knowing that I’ve done good.  I accomplished something that took me years to do and I did it on my own terms.  I cannot explain the relief I felt at that moment.  But I feel like any progress I made has been hindered by this recent fight with my mother.

Words cannot express how much I am against this latest idea of hers.  After hearing it, my first instinct was to rebel.  I don’t want it to work, I probably won’t allow it to work.  When I told her my objection, I was just being honest – I didn’t not want to go.  I was trying to save us the trouble of having the same fight over and over again, because I know that when I come home next, she’ll just get mad again.

I know I’m being vague and I’ll probably get more into it later.  I’m just … I wish I could explain to her that I really really don’t want to do this.