2,135 miles later

Road Trip 2009 is over. Cedar Point did not happen. Hot Dougs DID happen. And I am laying on my mom's couch. Seeing that I am now actually unemployed, I'm making myself incredibly comfortable, because I have a feeling that me and this couch are going to spend many an hour together. Crying. Cuddling. Napping. It's almost like having a boyfriend. But better, because the couch cant call me names.

The long haul from the Chi was disgustingly long. Backbreakingly long. If my dad had been driving and I would have been seven, I would have said "Are we there yet?" no less than 1,003 times. Which is coincidentally the mileage from Chicago to Denver. When I arrived home, I realized I had a sore throat from singing so much. Iowa was all about showtunes. Nebraska was all about Jock Jams circa 1996. And the final leg of Colorado was all about sentimental, emotional songs that my friend Will likes to refer to as "Fat Girl Music". He's from Texas. He's allowed.

My theme song of the trip was "Back in the High Life" by Steve Winwood for multiple reasons. One, because Steve Winwood is the f-ing man. Two, because its a song about reconnecting with yourself and old friends and dancing with a drink in one hand. Three, because it's a bit punny considering that I am, literally, back in the high life. 5280 ft higher my friends. Everyone is in the mile high club in Denver. And so on and so forth.

I thought I would be ecstatic the second I saw Denver. Smiling. Laughing. Patting myself on the back for not crashing into one of the many deer I saw on the side of the highway. But all I got was a serious sense of foreboding. Now, the real hunt begins.

But once the foreboding subsided and I hugged my mom and got made fun of by my funnier younger sister, I realized that I was in fact home. And driving around the past few days I felt a new sense of appreciation for this city. For its cleanliness and its relentless sunshine. For the fact that this is the only city with billboards for specific micro-brews and that even when I dont want to go out, I'm barraged with texts from friends trying to harass me into hitting the town. I'm playing polo tomorrow morning with my hetero lifemate and Boca has shared the couch with me in all his furry splendor. My mom is cooking Sunday dinner tomorrow night. And my sister is already getting annoyed with me.

Along the many hours of my trip, there were multiple phone conversations with family and friends and one friend in particular gave me this piece of advice, albeit in an incredibly facetious and asshole-ish manner:

"If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours. If it doesnt, it never was."

She was making fun of me, to be honest. But in a piece that is much more sentimental and emo than I usually care to get, my year in Boston was the best thing that I ever did for myself. I had to break my comfort zone, and I very much did. Along the way, I acquired some new talents, some new friends, and a newfound appreciation for the people who are my family.

And here's my Carrie Bradshaw moment (This one goes out to BB, MK, and KV in honor of my last supper in the Bean):

Maybe sometimes you dont realize you love something. Maybe sometimes it takes space for that realization to occur, and in the end, it is you that has to make the decision about what's important in your life.

For me, it came down to my people. And this city. The combo is awesome, and I'm glad to be home.

And I'd like to add that I think Sex and the City was the Full House for women. There was always that dumb last thirty seconds that summed up the lesson of the episode with Carrie smoking her stupid cigarette. Man, I think I sank to a new level with this one.

Let the shenanigans of Denver begin.