Sitting in a coffee shop with nothing but this pen and my journal.
It's been a while since I just sat down and took some time to unplug.
I need to do it more often.
I need to get back to my writing.
Back to the habit.
Back to the inebriation.
Back to the coffee and the time alone and the introspection.
It feels good to be home with my family.
To be away from her and the ruins of our life together.
Away from all the lost potential.
Away from the tension and the shame.
A table of men to my left discusses the merits and technicalities of baptism.
I often forget how little I belong in this town.
It feels natural to come back; I know this place well.
But I could not be further from the average demographic.
And yet...I feel oddly at peace here—soothed somehow by the familiarity of it all.
Perhaps it is a matter of perspective.
Coming home helps me remember the magnitude of my accomplishment.
When I am there, surrounded by my peers and colleagues, it is difficult to feel special.
And that is good.
The quickest way to destroy a scientist is to coddle him into a sense of superiority.
But coming home helps me really think about what I have done.
It helps me remember how hard I have worked.
How much I have risked.
How many sacrifices I have made in the pursuit of a life that has the capacity to make a difference.
I have really turned myself into something.
I don't need to be constantly reminded of that.
But sometimes it is nice to see it in context.