It has been almost two months since I last tasted the fresh air of the Plateau. Two months since I last swished it around, letting the cool, crisp flavor dance on my pallet. Two months since I saw snow-capped peaks and evergreen trees. Two months since I stepped outside, sighed, and said, “This is home.”

Many Skyline seniors are looking around, bright-eyed, ready to throw off the shackles of the often-mundane Plateau and the strictures of their parents’ homes. But, there is much to be said of home.

Occidental College may seem beautiful, but it just isn’t home to current freshman and former Skyline graduate Chris Best.

I live in Los Angeles, California, home of the world’s stars, center of multiculturalism, haven for young entrepreneurs and big shots. I am within a stone’s throw of the United States’ biggest movie production studios. At my disposal are a car and a wealth of destinations that any suburbanite teenage boy with a drive and an imagination would kill for. But, these are trifles.

It doesn’t rain in LA, certainly not like it does back home. There is just one big season all year: summer. Sometimes summer is mild, like in winter. And sometimes summer is abrasive. But, there is no variety; there is hot and there is warm. Some think of it as a paradise, I think of it as a prison.

I have made enough of weather and scenery, for that is not why I miss Issaquah.

No, there is no particular reason why I miss the Plateau. I can’t point to one thing and say, definitively, “I miss you the most.” But, I miss everything… even the bad.

I have at times even missed Skyline.

I, like many others, thought myself something of a clique-hopper. I was IB chic. I took the hard classes I wanted to take and the easiest classes I wanted to take and wasn’t afraid to socialize or buddy up with anybody. I may not miss Skyline High School as an educational institution, nor even as a place of gathering for my friends and I. But I miss the comfort. I miss being comfortable enough to say anything to anybody.

The real thing I lack, in a nutshell, is comfort.

I miss the comfort of being able to drive anywhere within 20 miles without a map. I miss knowing where all the good places are to eat in town. I miss knowing which lane to be in to get to the freeway. I just miss being comfortable.

I don’t need pulse-pounding excitement, just contentedness and comfort. I just need people I love being around in a place I love being in.

I can’t tell you the last time my best friends and I did anything exciting. We had neither the money nor the giddy-up to go to any really fun or important events. We didn’t go to concerts, sporting events, fairs, plays, political rallies, gatherings of any sort of higher education, or religious ceremonies with any sort of zeal. We didn’t party; we didn’t do drugs. Mostly we just… were. And we were together.

We didn’t need gadgetry or gimmicks. We just hung around, ate, watched movies, played some video games, and enjoyed each others’ company.

Many nights we resigned ourselves to smoking stogies on the deck, watching the sunset and enjoying the fresh air. We talked about everything. We joked and we laughed and we smiled and we didn’t care what other people were doing or what amazing things we were missing out on. We were content.

Contentedness is such an under-appreciated concept. It’s not decadence or overindulgence. It’s not trying to live life to the extreme. It’s not going to a party, having a dozen shots, grabbing the drunkest girl and calling it a night. Contentedness in these things is illusory.

Contentedness is not something you can force. You can’t pick a place and analyze it for contentedness. You can’t say, “Well, there is sun and fun things to do and I love the opportunities I’ll have.” No, contentedness does not work this way. Contentedness is comfort in the things around you: friends, scenery, traditions, loved ones, hobbies. It is not something you can look for, but something you find.

I have yet to find new contentedness in California. I am content, certainly, but in no part because of LA. I talk to my best friends daily. My parents call several times a week. I keep up email correspondence with my relatives. I instant message my brother. I text, call, and cherish every last moment I get to spend with my girlfriend.

Do not take Skyline for granted, nor your home, nor your friends. Do not think that such things can be easily duplicated, for they can’t. Hold onto what you can and enjoy what you have left of the others. As sour as home tastes, you might end up thinking nothing has tasted as sweet.