Normally, my brain on its way to work is not what anyone would call together. By the time I get halfway to campus, I realize that I've been listening to the Laurie Berkner Band (fabulous kids' music for those of you out of the kid loop), and I'm singing "booty booty, ya ya ya" even though my children are not in the car. It's at this point that I usually switch stations, shake my head to clear the kid-friendly, mother-approved lyrics out, and wonder if I've hit anything in the last ten minutes of driving.
Yesterday, however, I looked up before making that first turn on the road to academia, and this is what I saw:
Who would have thought that a west coast girl would be inspired by, much less live in the midst of, east coast farmland? When I was growing up in LA, taking the RTD down to Hermosa Beach or walking up Compton Boulevard to the Sav-On for a scoop of ice cream, I thought I'd never leave. Now, I can't imagine going back. I simply don't fit into the rush anymore. Most days, I don't really feel like I belong here, either. At risk of waxing philosophical, I am a product of two worlds. In the south, I will always be "that girl from California," and in LA, they tell me I have a southern accent, y'all. But every once in a while, I look up, and I am in the right place.