We drove to the San Francisco Chronicle building, where he dropped me off to meet with Nate and Melissa to talk about my internship this summer. I think we were both nervous, but we commented on the neighborhood and looked at the fronts of apartment buildings to pass the time.
My life will forever be my commute: I fly, I drive, and now I will Bart. I don’t know where home is or what home means anymore. The Valley? Los Angeles? Santa Clara? San Jose? I desperately want to just settle and start building my own home, cooking my own food, and doing things on my own terms. At the same time, I’m so unbelievably afraid of growing up. Having my own place will mark the ending of a stage in my adolescent life. As we drove, we passed so many anxious, removed and tired faces—anxious to always keep moving, anxious to be old, anxious to make rent, anxious to fight for survival.
He dropped me off without a word.
I’m so goddamn scared.
