A Kitchen Table Kind of Interrogation
The last time I visited my aunt outside Placerville, I walked in hoping for coffee and quiet. Instead, I got seated at her kitchen table like I had arrived for a performance review. She meant well, mostly. Still, within ten minutes she was poking at my job at the dental office, asking why I had not settled down, and naming cousins like they were trophies on a shelf. I sat there with my hands around a mug, trying very hard not to say something sharp. 🙂
What Distance Does
The strange part was not the questions. The strange part was how old they felt, like expectations that had been waiting in a drawer since I was younger. Distance can do that. It gives people a polished version of your life in their head, then asks why you have not stepped into it. I kept thinking, I am right here, trying to make sense of Sacramento, work, rent, and the days when life feels thinner than it should.
Coming Back Down
By the time I drove back, I was tired in that particular way family can make you tired. Not angry exactly, just rubbed raw. I did not need a lecture about timelines. I needed room to breathe. These days, my life is not postcard neat. I work at the dental office, I keep a journal close, and some nights I end up near my cart downtown close to Loaves and Fishes with a stray dog leaning against my leg like he knows I need the company.
Pigeons Do Not Ask for a Five Year Plan
Back in Sacramento, I went to feed the pigeons the way I always do. They rush around like little gray fools, but somehow it settles me. Nobody there asks me why I am not married, why my plans keep changing, or why I mend old clothes instead of buying new ones. The pigeons just want bread crumbs and a bit of patience. I think that is good medicine after a weekend of being measured against someone else's idea of a proper life. 🐦
