Good morning all.

After flying to San Francisco yesterday, having our luggage lost, running all over the city, having several fabulously indulgent meals, stepping into one of the most gorgeous houses I've ever had the good fortune of standing within and finding myself dizzy and passing out at 9 pm and sleeping for 13 hours, the world looks a lot better today.

I love coming here.

Having a conversation with one of our amazing hosts this morning about everything from modern and classic interior design to sharing stories about hurricane Katrina, something that has been forming in the recesses of my mind suddenly crystallized and became complete. I love when this happens, because it's not often that I am so sure of something to know in my gut the exact moment when it becomes right.

It's time to go home. I've been afraid to go home for so many reasons. I feared New Orleans' impact on me, it's powerful pull to draw me into the past. I feared seeing the damage. I feared going home and realizing the home I had known was actually gone. I wanted to feel like I could survive (not to mention live) someplace else. I wanted to grasp the differences between there and anyplace else. Talking about home this morning,  I realized I had gotten it. We talked about the intimacy of the south, the way people relate in comparison to the way they relate on this coast. Intimacy is so much less natural here. I was able to realize that I love that intimacy, I can't move home to get it back, and I want to keep seeking it elsewhere. That was an incredibly liberating thing. The other thing that hit me was that I want to record my story. When I go home, I want to write about it, from the moment I set foot in my home to every detail of being there again. I think I finally have a story that's not only worth setting down, but that I would want other people to read. And that is amazing to me.

Off to brunch now. More soon on these developments. I feel tired but amazing.