Coping Mechanisms

I live in a state over a thousands miles away from my hospitable and beach-y hometown. I no longer hear crowds roar as "TOUCHDOWN - PIRAAATES" is proclaimed from the football stadium, not too far from my home. My parents are not a drive away and "Salmon Wednesdays" at their large wooden table are not listed in my day planner. My sister and brother-in-law aren't around the corner to tell jokes or steal my clothes. I never pass the neighborhood where I totalled my first car, my ever-growing elementary school is too far to catch a glimpse of and my favorite sushi place only tempts me in my mind-never because of its nearness.

I live in a new home now. I attend a university much different than the one I attended before, mainly because the one I first attended I saw every day for 20 years before I sat as student in its classrooms. I used to work in the office I visited as a young girl, and instead now I drive to a brick building void of memories. I have friends, but I'm not sure I could pick them out in baby pictures or name their 12-year-old woes.

I am surrounded by unfamiliarity. Nothing feels known or experienced, just...new. The food on my plates feels funny on my tongue, and my winter clothes feel odd layered on my body. I'm used to watermelon and sundresses, and now I have soup and heavy jackets. I love these new tastes and sounds, but sometimes I shockingly recall- this isn't what I've always known.

My brain plays tricks on me. I hear a raspy voice, and I turn around to see my old highschool friend. A car in the distance approaches, and I wait patiently for it to come close enough so I can wave to my Dad's ol' golfing buddy. Certain flips of hair, laughs and hippie shoes often assure me I'm seeing visions of home, but here's the thing: It's never my old buddy. It's never my third grade teacher or my gymnastics coach. It's a cold stranger, to which I hold no bond or memory.

I know I live in Wisconsin, and I know I don't have scrapbooks filled with the people and sounds of this winter wonderland, but my mind always seeks to familiarize the unknown around me. I can't seem to leave the adventure a mystery, or men and woman as strangers. Instead, I subconsciously cope by giving memories to the nameless immigrants walking this land. It's a sort of mental "blankie" I suppose; imaginary friends to help me feel secure when I realise all that's around me is foreign.

Yes, without my command, my mind chooses to cope by filtering the unknown into my only realm of known. I wonder when the day will come that I feel safe without recognizing what surrounds me, or is it I'll always live in this discomfort until I form a ground-work of memories that suffice for my desire for familiarity. I wonder...

Over and out.