Homeward Bound

Matt and I are in the truck on our way home from Sundance. We just got through Salt Lake City and it is a horrible, desolate place. It was covered in a disgusting, murky fog completely different from the lush, white carpet of fog that often covers San Francisco. The whole town had a palpable, bleak wretchedness about it. Even the food we got there made me feel gross. Just driving through it made me feel terribly uncomfortable.

Coming home feels like a two-edged sword. I'm excited to get back to my friends and family, but slpping back in to my routine doesn't sound too appealing. There was a real satisfaction that I felt from working with my hands that I've never experienced in an office. The ability to see an instant result from my effort was really refreshing. Exerting tremendous amounts of effort, seemingly in vain, with no tangible or visible results seems to be a recurring theme in every avenue of my life: scholastic, career, personal, whatever. It feels like I work and sweat and pour myself out to crack open a safe and instead of diamonds, I find a lump of coal.

It felt really, really good to see the direct product of my work, even if it was something as simple as making t-shirts.