It’s fall in Southern California, which means that it’s not fall at all. Palm trees don’t change leaves, and over-priced cider from Walmart isn’t the same as freshly squeezed apple nectar from an orchard.
At first, I attributed my intense nostalgia to the lack of autumn here and a general homesickness. Yet, as I attempted to self-medicate this heart sickness through Facebook crawling and copious amounts of decaffeinated tea (official sign of the end of college life), I realized that I was battling an impossible nostalgia.
It’s a feeling of impossible nostalgia that carries the hope of a reunited tomorrow.
I am not missing out on anything nor can I return to this rose-tinted moment that never existed. And I have hope for my own Clapham group in the future. Luke and I are so blessed to have such incredible friends from coast to coast. Maybe, one day, we’ll all be within driving distance (or at least the same time zone). I know I’m biased because the common denominator between you all is my husband and I, but I promise you it would be awesome if we gave it a try. Because you all have already impacted our lives in so many ways for so much good. Thank you.
Until next time,