My watch is still set to Eastern standard time.

It’s been four months and one day since I moved back to my little spot in Texas.

That means my time back in Texas has officially exceeded my time in Boston by one day.

And I don’t like it. Not one bit.

I miss you, Boston. And it’s not technically you; it’s the dream of you. It’s the joy of living, of trying something different. That’s what I wanted. This is why I drive myself every single second of every single day. So I don’t think. So I don’t feel you. So I don’t have to love you; so I don’t have to know how much you broke my heart.

Before today Boston still felt close — it still felt like something I’d lived recently. But now I’m realizing exactly how quickly that time is running away from me. Yesterday, I could look back and say, “One month ago exactly, I was doing this.” Or, “three months ago I was on my way to NYC for Valentine’s Day.” Somehow, now that I’ve been back longer than I lived there, it feels different. I felt like in some way my time here mirrored my Boston time, and maybe when next four months are up I could get the hell out again. And I feel like I can’t say those things anymore because then I’m truly living in the past and not paying attention to my life in front of me.

When I looked back at my move to Boston, I always smile when I think about that day: January 10, 2010. I thought it was the first day of the rest of my life; the day when my life would change. And it did. But I thought the next time I’d be in Texas I’d be a bonafide city girl, ready to swing through Midland for my best friend’s wedding, dazzle my friends and family with my newfound confidence and then resume my fabulous life in Beantown.

I woke up that January morning with a stomachache: Fear, uncertainty and excitement were at war within me, and I couldn’t decide which to let win.

I remember touching down on the runway at Logan and leaning past the man next to me to get a glimpse of my new city. I sighed, not really sure what to think.

There are so many things that made me happy in Boston, and so many things that were hurting me while I was there.

Those months in Boston stretched me further than I ever dreamed possible. I’ve talked about it before, in this post, about how much Boston tested me. Back at home, I could see the changes in myself. And that was important to me. My time in Boston wasn’t about having grand adventures (although those were wonderful); it was about growing up. Changing. Living. Figuring out what i want and what and want to do in life. Boston is still so much a part of me, it’s scary. Almost everything I experience here reminds me of life in Boston. Something. A song puts me back at a night in a bar in Fenway. A particular smell has me walking through the Common on a sunny day, just getting off work from my flower shop. And flowers — that job was rough and at times I despised it, but now I always stop and “smell the roses.” Or since roses aren’t technically fragrant, the freesia. My favorite.

But now. Now I’m in Lubbock. Now I have a job I’m grateful for, friends and co-workers I love, my family close by and an apartment all to myself. In the last four months, I don’t see any growth on my part. And that makes me sad.

What I’m figuring out is that I cut my grand adventure short way too early. I let go of living and let my fear bring me back here. Maybe Lubbock is the right place for me for the time being, but it’s not going to fulfill me for long.There’s nothing that drives me; nothing that moves me; nothing that really makes me question anything I believe. It doesn’t’ stretch me.

I went into my move naively; I didn’t see the future as something to think about. All I knew was that I wanted out and I wanted out now. Maybe I should have thought about it more; maybe I shouldn’t have been so “brave.” I should have had the foresight to realize problems would happen and I’d have to deal with them.

But, I didn’t. And I’m back in Lubbock. Things aren’t so bad, but it sucks to be so disappointed in myself.