The Avenues

The Avenues.

Even if you know only a little about me, you'll also know I lived in Utah for a few years while receiving my undergrad. It's somewhat wild that I managed to stay sane, and it's even wilder to think that I not only survived but truly enjoyed my time there. I studied, I danced, and I even followed certain school traditions (Ahem). Saying that I had—and still have—school spirit would be an understatement, and I'm sure one day all those photos of me with painted blue face and wild outfits will haunt me. Actually, just admitting to them is probably a bad idea. Now you all know, too.

But I digress.

I left in a bit of a whirl. I finished graduation, went home to my empty rental house and full-to-the-brim car, and left. I don't even think I changed out of my graduation dress. And you guys, I cried. From my house until about the end of the canyon. It was like I was experiencing the saddest scene from every after-school movie made (the depressing ones, not the ones with drugs and pregnancies). I think I even heard Green Day's "Time of Your Life" as I replayed every memory from college. If I wasn't crying I probably would've laughed at the ridiculous scene that it was.

More than anything else, the leaving part, and spending the next few months figuring out my future, left me a little wanting. I guess I thought I needed some closure, some sort of ending, or at least a better one. It was as if I felt Utah owed me something. Like I wanted to her to say, Hey you, get back here for a minute! So I did. It was between the Dominican Republic and its sandy beaches or Utah. And in my infinite wisdom, I picked Utah. And dragged the boyfriend along with me. It's those mountains! Those great friends I have who reside there! They made me!

Now I'm back in my apartment listening to the sounds of my neighbors outside bickering about who left trash on the stoop, and feeling content. I guess I got all the jitters out of my system. I can finally plan that summer vacation without feeling the west tugging at me.