We went home to California recently, after nearly a year since our last visit. Having lived abroad for so long, I assumed just being stateside meant we’d have more opportunities to see our ocean, our families, our friends. We’re 3,000 miles closer, after all. What’s a 6-hour flight when we were used to logging 14-hour ones? Our first year with H. there were a few reasons why it was just easier to stay close. And now, well, have you done a 6-hour flight with a toddler recently? At the end of the day, we still can’t just get in a car and go home.

It all makes me think more about here, the home we rent but inhabit day in and day out. I’m already attached though we don’t know how long we’ll remain. Last week, when our 90-degree days finally broke into morning cloud cover, I was excited to return to the loop I’ve mapped for me and Ruby and H. When my neighbor Carol drove by and pulled over for a quick chat, it felt like I knew the land. But the clouds felt good in the first place because they reminded me of my walks in San Francisco. They almost felt like fog. Home leads the way home.

I’m not sure what I know of San Francisco anymore. It’s changed, as everyone back home keeps saying. The tech money has moved in, which means anyone with a regular salary has had to move out, or will eventually and in the meantime speaks with authority about how much the city has changed. I only spent a few hours there this trip, for a pit stop on the drive down from Ryan’s mom’s house to mine. We had a playdate in the Presidio, then sat in the dunes on Ocean Beach with friends who live so close to where we used to. My toes didn’t even make it in the water, but we did walk by the old apartment. It turns out that during all that time, there was a heart right across the street.

I wanted to stay longer. I wanted to see all the friends I miss. But these trips are so full as is. There is never enough time. Time is here, in our other home, where the weekends can wash in and wash back out, where the routine is comforting, where Ruby is always with us, where nothing requires packing right now. It’s not the same, and there is so much we miss about California and the people we love there. But California can also feel like the ocean. Right there, still known, but not around us. Hearing it, most of the time, is a memory.