Home.
Yes. You can get that on record. I have just called New Mexico home.
Oh goodness. What has happened to me?
This time two years ago, I would have kicked myself for saying that. Chances are I would've done so even one year ago. I hated it when I lived there. I was tired of the browns of the desert, the long dry summers, the cold snowy winters, the run down neighborhoods. I was tired of the big blue sky, the spicy green chilie peppers, even the turquoise.
I moved to Perfectville, California. It's nice. I can walk to the beach. The land is green. No one here looks like they'd want to steal my purse as soon as I leave it. People here all seem to lead perfect lives to go along with their perfect town. Perfect grades, perfect clothes, perfect houses, perfect bodies, perfect everything. I should be thankful that I live here. It's such a nice place. People are nice. The weather is nice. Everyone who lives here seems to be in love with it. I feel bad for hating it, thinking that I'm just going to want to come back when I leave. But yet I don't feel like I belong here. I feel like an outcast. The imperfect figure in the town of perfect-ness.
It's easy to get sick of perfect.
Now, I miss those hot, dry summers. I think the brown mountains and blue skies are beautiful. I can appreciate the snowy winters and even the run down neighborhoods now because there aren't any here. And I definitely miss having turquoise-wearing waiters and waitresses asking me "red or green?" after ordering food.
I have such great memories there. When I got to New Mexico, I was just an innocent little 13 year old girl. I was just sure that one day I would be a writer. I had dreams of going to high school and living my life just like a Taylor Swift music video. I thought I knew exactly who I was... and well, everything else. But I spent a year in solitude... though I didn't like it at the time, it gave me a better sense of not being afraid to be myself. I started high school and met some wonderful people. Suddenly I found myself not hating New Mexico so much. Those people and events gave me an even better idea of who I was and made me grow up... I remember leaving our little adobe house and thinking "Wow. I'm a different person than I was when I first entered that house." It felt good. I felt more... real.
Today I heard that the morning radio show I listened to everyday when I lived there was cancelled. I just about cried. To me, it was just symbolic of how good those days were, and how that they're really over now.
I still feel like an outsider here in California. I'll be sitting in chemistry and think "Do I really go to school here? What am I even doing here? I don't belong here..."
I live in Perfectville, where I would have killed to live just two years ago. It's black and white, nothing ever goes wrong.
But life needs some color. And of the seven totally different places I've lived, New Mexico is the most colorful.
You've got to see the black and white before you can appreciate the color.
Oh, what'd I'd give to go back.
Even if you just want to leave while you're there, you'll always be drawn back in.
And that's why they call it the Land of Enchantment.
