Texas is just as I remember it. Where the Southwest meets the Midwest meets the South. Spanish colonials mixed with plantations mixed with Midwest yards and fences and window trim. Cacti and grass. Palm trees and pines. In the midst of it all, I’m not quite sure where I am. The narrow streets are hard to place. I feel strangely comfortable with a familiar that is brand new. I look up, expecting to see mountains to guide my direction, there is nothing. 

I feel uncomfortable here. I feel like I know it all too well. I feel like I have somehow crossed dimensions. Like I’ve stumbled upon a place where I can have a foot in both worlds. Where I can eat fresh tacos but then have a fresh donut. Where I can have a local brew but then not a national app car pick up. I feel too smart and too small and too white and too right. It feels too right here. 

And the heat. It’s not that hot-temperature wise, but the sun beats and the humidity sticks. My usual baby hair becomes thick and damp and clings to my skin. The sweat never stops. I become comfortable in my shimmery layers. I just let myself exude. I am reminded of the comfort of an air conditioner, of a temperature controlled room. Of a place where the dampness can’t follow. I am reminded of the value of shade and dry and cool. I remind myself it’s relative, subjective, keep that perspective. It’s hard. I try to see myself from the outside. Do you even look like you belong here? Are you getting too comfortable too quick? What do you know?


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