In the spring of 2009, rather abruptly, my parents moved from Fresno, California, to Boston, Massachusetts. Their move coincided with my graduation from college. I skipped the ceremony and flew out of the John Wayne Airport in Orange County with all my worldly possessions (all the ones I could cram into an ancient suitcase and a backpack, at any rate). I think I felt sort of shell-shocked at the time. College had been an ordeal for a number of reasons, and it was hard to imagine it was suddenly done with. I had survived. It was over, forever. I always left Irvine in the summers, but now I was never coming back. The fact that I was leaving my beloved home state was a thought I staunchly forced out of my mind. I knew rationally, of course, that I was leaving, and unlikely to come back anytime soon, though I would not have really fathomed how permanent a departure this would be. I chose to focus solely on the process of getting from P...