The ocean. The Pacific Ocean, to be specific. As someone who grew up surrounded by wheat fields and cow pastures, the ocean feels like an entirely different planet.

Not that I have anything against wheat fields and cow pastures. Wheat, if I do say so myself, is the best kind of field to get lost in. Especially when the wheat is young and dark green and you can poke your sister in the arm with the prickly edges.

Don’t even get me started on cows. They are the sweetest creatures you’ll ever meet, with unique and often times quirky personalities.

But back to the ocean. It’s New Years Eve. I’m at Green Gulch Farm Zen Center, meditating with 50 or more other people. During the break between sits, we head into the garden and place tea lights, set in glass votives and colored paper, around the tree in the center. It’s cold - I can see my breath. I look up at the stars and I hear something. It’s the ocean, I realize. In the distance, waves are crashing onto Muir Beach. Though it feels absurd, considering I grew up in Texas, it reminds me of home. The silence, the stars, the fields nearby.

The ocean, though. That is different. It is larger and more powerful than my nostalgia and it is fierce. Fierce! I like this fierceness. Like being on another planet. Home and not home.

(What I'm listening to right now: It’s Only by Odesza)