Today is Thursday. It’s raining outside and blowing hard enough to make the house creak. This is not a big deal. This is what happens around here.
On Saturday, I will be in Tucson, Arizona. It is supposed to be 62 degrees and by Christmas Eve, the high should hit 74.
Yes – you are right, that does sound nice, especially for a dude who hasn’t been out of Southeast but once since October last year.
But Tucson isn’t a tourist destination. It’s a place of context. I remember and love it because it was the place I chose to start adulthood. It’s the place I went once I graduated from high school and started the real life away from the wild safety of my adolescence in Klawock.
There are places with more to do, more to see, and better salmon runs, but none have the nostalgic pull of the Old Pueblo.
In my mind, the best burrito on Earth is served there, the best Happy Hour pizza is available there, the best college in the world is located there, and the best place to be reminded I had what it takes to make it is available there.
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