I am not in a forest of redwood trees, as wide as five or six of me side by side. No, instead I am in New England , where I could easily have one or two tree trunks be just as wide as my self. But in some ways when I close my eyes I am somewhere I am not, I see things that I have never seen. I close my eyes and I am here.

I see bark that is not muddy brown and plain; instead the bark is vibrant oranges and reds when in the shadow. Walking through the forest I am not attacked by hundreds of branches extending from average sized trees, instead I am walking straight through without a scratch looking up at the glorious giants as if I am an ant. No longer are my sneakers getting stuck in odd plants, instead they are striding on a red earth, like mulch, that feels strong and sturdy rather than the moist that I am accustomed to.

I open my eyes and I am not really there. New England just doesn’t measure up to lovely California . All the snow and the cold, just the cold alone kills me. You can’t go swimming at a beach unless it’s the middle of summer and it’s only then that the water is at the right temperature balanced with the air. I close my eyes again.

The water is cold, but the air is hot. There is more sand than rocks here, a miracle in my books. I see green back towards land rather than dried grass dunes. The waves are big, and feisty I might add. As I let one tower over me and sweep me under. The pressure on my body crushing me, it feels good compared to the pitiful waves I’m used to. People here are different, too. More tourists and young adults.

I open my eyes. There are only families and old retired people at my beaches. It’s unexciting and nothing compared to where I should be.