I can't trace time

There really isn't anything in life that feels quite as mysterious as the passing of time. I'm convinced it isn't linear. Summer welcomed me with open arms and harsh realities as I returned to a world that went on without me, yet expected me to be up to date with the changes. But I managed, while discovering several things I used to take for granted. For instance, we have huge roads in this country, as we do people. But more importantly, that I'm only a 40 minute bike ride away from the beach.

We should all be so lucky. I tried to ride as often as I could these past few weeks, trying to keep up with my grandfather, who does this everyday. Being away for so long lead me to appreciate so many things I'd missed.

I finally took up surfing. It only took me 14 years. The water wasn't as cold as I thought it would be in the hours of twilight. But it's just as well that the summer I learn to surf would be one that bring waves in improper form. It's been a bad summer for surf, I'm told. But I can't tell the difference. There's always next summer.

I'm driving up to Santa Cruz today with all the crap I've accumulated and deemed useful enough to bring with me.

Where has the time gone?