Having moved away from my homeland when I was eighteen years old, and spending my twenties as a reporter jumping on planes two or three times a month, I now mostly travel vicariously through my girl. She has a touch of wanderlust, a lovely feeling (mentioned by some of you in the comments of my last post) that the world is hers. I love that. On Instagram, she captioned these two photos "Happy on the west coast." She came back from her weeklong trip talking about moving there, not necessarily to L.A., which is where she was, but she wants to check out San Diego. I groaned. "Oh God, do you mean we're going to have to get on a plane to see our grandchildren?" She just laughed. California whispers to her soul.