It’s been such a long time since I lived in winter.

I met Karen in the lobby of the Royal York. After waiting for Michael to no avail, we ventured outside to go to the restaurant. That’s when it hit me. Like a return to summer camp, like encountering an old girlfriend. I used to live here, in winter.

Long before I moved to California, I lived in Connecticut. Grew up there and ultimately matriculated in Vermont. Gray winter days were de rigueur, they were what was expected. You went outside to get somewhere, not to play. Unless the snow was fresh and you were off from school, or you were partaking in a winter sport.

As we strode down the avenue, there were piles of snow. The same piles I remembered. Dirty with soot, but reminiscent of the wonderland that had occurred only hours before, when the flakes fell down from the sky, tamping down all the noise, all the ugliness of the city. The snow brings quiet. But your insides come alive. You feel happy.

I won’t say I have a love/hate relationship with Los Angeles. It’s hard to hate L.A., everyone’s so into their own trip they leave you alone, and the weather is exquisite. But when I venture back to the longitude and latitude of my upbringing, my brain gets stimulated. I’m reminded of reading books and playing board games inside, not only when it was too cold, but when it rained in the summer and our plans were ruined.

They say you can’t go home again. But home lives on inside.

Our lunch discussion was just slightly different from that in SoCal. There was no discussion of automobiles, shopping and fashion never came up. Instead we delved into art and life, and far below the surface. Like that Marc Cohn song, we dug down deep.

Everything’s that much more serious on the east coast. As if having battled the elements, we’ve got to hunker down, we’ve got to make this life count. When I go to Colorado, I feel the crisp air, I love the beauty of the landscape, with its cover of pristine snow. But I’m not affected in the same way. On the east coast, my entire history pops up inside of me. I’m suddenly in touch with who I used to be. I can see my whole life as a continuum.

You only get one go-round. Do you sacrifice, do you settle, or do you go for greatness? Do you have children and let your career suffer, or do you focus on work and miss their upbringing. Or do you miss it all, like me, in the hope of some brass ring at the end, which never may come. Furthermore, the older you get, you realize nobody is watching, nobody is keeping score.

Ultimately, it’s about the moment.

But the moment on the east coast is built upon a foundation. I climbed those steps, I erected that edifice. I got good grades to get into a good college. Then I tossed it all aside in the pursuit of the California Dream, as extolled by the Beach Boys. I don’t think I could have done it any differently, but should I have?