Snow, Stone, and Sky

How long do you have to live in a place before it feels like home? LA is said to take a few years, so despite how at ease I feel in my early-established haunts, perhaps there are deeper roots to sink before it's home.

Regardless of how long LA might take, though, I have another data point to compare it to. Lake Tahoe became home in three short months.

I learned this at the end of the long Friday drive I began after dropping Chelsea off with her friend. US-395 was familiar territory after two southern jaunts last fall, but neither trip saw the Sierra Nevadas quite so majestic with snow. On the prior treks, the range had seemed far off, especially so every time I tried to take a picture. Furthermore, the previous drives had grown dark after about half the drive, depriving me of the most dramatic scenery along the way. No surprise, then, that as I drove up Friday afternoon, I pulled off the road time and time again to snap a quick picture (or 80, as my Instagram followers probably bemoaned) and take a minute or two for myself, breathing the crisp air and following the blanketed ridges off into the distance.

Perhaps it was that ride that distracted me from even asking the question of whether Tahoe would be a homecoming. I had been excited before the trip, having planned a return as soon as possible after my move, but it hadn't been the weightiest decision. Do you want to go to a cool place? Yes I do. Also, I felt an element of reassurance. Through the years, Erik and I have bonded over our distance from the place that formed our friend group, but I failed to make it out to Tahoe for years until that long stay last fall. Once I got to LA, I felt it important to get to Tahoe quickly to assure him and myself that the bond was cemented. After all, even among a pantheon of friends that humble me regularly, Erik's generosity and support last year stand out, especially because he would shrug that off and say "Meh, I liked having you here."

For that reason, I didn't think about the homecoming aspect until I crested a hill and saw the lake. As soon as possible, I pulled to the side of the road, leaned against my car, and stared at sunset over the water, letting tears fall. At that first sight, my heart leapt. I felt embraced by the setting and, in that embrace, I realized how much healing had happened in those three months. Every moment I find myself smiling at my life now, every time I poke my head into the former dark places within and find them reshaped in radiance, I can trace it to that place and the progress I made there.




Is it as simple as recognizing one's fortune? Realizing the sheer arrogance of claiming frustration with one's life when one can say one's friend would have them as a houseguest in Lake Tahoe? Um, yeah, probably. I have had both internal and external voices telling me recently that my life is nothing to sneeze at and I think I finally get that. Apologies to the voices that have been saying it for years.

I also feel, though, that Tahoe represents the marriage of two of the most important things that make a home for me (and really most people, of course), friends that make you grow and a place that charges you up. Tahoe’s ample beauty alone isn’t enough to bring me back as much as I can afford (though it’s pretty close), but tell me I can go to one of the most beautiful places I have ever been and have deep friendships there when I arrive? Well, damn, let me set up half a dozen low-fare alerts now (juuuust kidding, they’re already set up).

The weekend was short, but rich. After my emotional moment with the lakeside, I made my way north to Incline Village, the sign for which gave me another jolt of feeling. I parked outside the complex, trundled my spinner along the familiar walkway, and climbed the stairs to the apartment I so often came home to (from what, walks to the coffee shop?) for three months. To my delight, the dogs missed my footsteps on the stairs, but began barking when I swung the door open. I’ll admit, I had hoped there would be some recognition, especially after Erik said Lucy sniffed around my room for a while after I drove back east. Though welcoming leaps are normal for Lucy, she seemed particularly excited, while Bailey, ever the chill one, wagged enthusiastically and, as Kelly pointed out, smiled.

I hugged Erik and Kelly and shared with them how hard my arrival had hit me. Meanwhile, my eyes raced around the apartment, taking in the restorative surroundings with a new mindset. In what became a tone for the weekend, I got to appreciate the beauty of the apartment, the town, my friends, and the wider setting without concurrently feeling the deep channels of anxiety and doubt about my future.

The night took us to Alibi, where we got food truck pizza (out of an actual brick oven on the back of the truck), played some Exploding Kittens, and ultimately dove into a deep but friendly discussion of politics helped along by a particularly fine IPA. When we got home, Erik and I tried and struggled to watch some Deadwood, but the drive and the drinks caught up and I found my old bed.

Saturday, we took the dogs and their FAVORITE drone to the lake, where we spent the day enjoying gorgeous weather and stunning scenery. As with the drive, snow in the mountains altered and heightened the familiar views, as pictures can convey better than I can.
















After tossing around some Incline Village options for dinner, we called an audible and planned a night out in Reno. After some showering and changing, we piled into two cars and caravanned over Mount Rose. Apparently, during the ride, Lucy gazed out the back window of Erik’s car, keeping tabs on me in case I decided to leave again.

The night began with incredible sushi, ended with an Uber through a McDonald’s drive-thru, and made stops at the Simpsons Arcade Game, an asshole firefighter, and an ex-parrot friend along the way. Hearkening back to the Reno nights of last fall, we definitely got after it, necessitating the next morning’s tradition of a greasy breakfast and fetching of a car.

If it feels like I’m at the end of the weekend sooner than expected, then I’ve captured the feeling I had at around 2pm Sunday when it dawned on me that the eight hours back weren’t going to drive themselves. We said our goodbyes and, as we had all weekend, discussed me flying in the future to give us more time to hang out.

As if to reinforce that decision, the drive back proved a slog even mountain majesties couldn’t quite overcome, particularly once I got back into town and played the parking game.







During that drive, though, I did think about how this first trip back felt. Familiar and refreshing, tried and true, like visiting a part of myself.

It felt like home.