I have a couple of thoughts this morning. No matter how much I loved my week and a half on the West Coast, I am essentially a person that really loves this side of the country. It is brisk and chilly and slightly faster paced and a place where the Red Sox swept the World Series. I am content.
This morning I overheard someone talking about "the minority leader" on my way to work. Under normal circumstances, that would irritate me, but it felt comfortable this morning. The last exchange I overheard in L.A. was a woman at a sushi bar talking to another about yoga instruction. The exchange went something like this.
"Okay, so I'd say, 'reach your arms, up over your head..."
"No, no... just 'reach your arms'. Let people find their OWN depth."
This went on longer then I would have thought possible. Like valet parking in a mini-mall, it seemed to be uniquely West Coast in style and substance.
My significant other — Kansan, as he is — would complain there is something between the East and West Coast, and of course, there is (corn, for example). But the differences seem so dramatic between New York and LA, San Francisco and DC, etc. It's the climate, it's the manner of the Starbucks' baristas, it's the sheer amount of frozen yogurt places in California, it's the conversation at sushi bars. I like both, but I belong here. Though, I'll be honest, I'll miss the sun and fro-yo.