I sit in my parents’ home and look at these shutters. The bane of my existence since about 1970, since they were installed. Because, this was my job. To dust the teeny tiny slats one by one on a Saturday morning.

And I was thinking this weekend, that no matter where you go, you truly belong to your childhood home. Like everything else here, these shutters are a part of my very soul. And we have a very unique relationship. I clean. You get dirty. Repeat. Like clockwork.

My buddy Hoss sent me a playlist on Spotify. He’s on a long getaway to the wilds of the Northwest. And as I listened to it on the way to LA, I thought. This is all Texas. And I texted him: “No matter where u go, u belong to Texas.”

And I started to think.

When I go to Fresno, I feel like I’m home, because I lived there for 17 years. For the last few years I thought I would be back there forever, and in retrospect not sure if I was in love with the man or the place. I live in Northern California. And when I go there, I say I’m home. Because I am raising my boys there. I got a necklace this week to symbolize that.


But. If I want to really know who I am, it’s here. In the house that love built. It’s why I love the beaches here. And the Dodgers. And who I am is a product of an incredible family, made up of steps and halfs and countless neighbors. Of coffee and the LA Times.

I live in the 209. But like the North Star, I keep my sights on the home in the valley. Where everyone and anyone can walk in a be “a part of”. Where promises are golden, and people have your back. I was raised and am still being raised by the two most incredible people on the planet.

Magnetic North. Even when I’m not here, I’m here.

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