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It was just half a year ago when the inevitable came, the oncoming and radical shift in lifestyle that I had been expecting for the past four or five years, the day I moved to Arizona. I had always known I would have to leave my relatively easygoing and responsibility-free lifestyle, moving to a more unknown state in which its inhabitants live at a much slower pace. You see, I was always a Southern California boy who was born and raised for the past 18 years, so how could I not be sad? There was no way I could blame this life changing decision on anyone else. It was all me. It was truly a daunting decision.

Why was I moving? Not only do Californians bombard me with this question, but this curiosity follows me even in Arizona. Quite honestly, I do not have a very good answer to that anymore. Why leave the life of endless potential adventures to settle in an area where there is not much going on? Why leave the people who loved me and the relationships I have built? Why go into a foreign land and start up again? I ask myself these questions a lot these days.

The thing is, I was running from something and I hate to admit it to myself. I was ultimately tired and unhappy with what I had. My family life I felt was stagnant, yet at the same time overbearing. Yet, looking back and comparing it to my current one, California’s was not bad. I noticed plenty of flaws in my social life that I felt discontent with, be it the quality of certain aspects or perhaps the loss of previous relationships.

Then again, towards the end of that chapter in my life, I realized my close circle of friends was quite amazing. I joke with a close buddy of mine from my former life that we had a very “overpowered group”, meaning we had a great mix of unique individuals that are hard to find elsewhere. Perhaps I’m just nostalgic.

I was a week away from going back to visit California, my home, after only five months of moving to Arizona; I had to plan my vacation ahead as my mind filled with ideas of grand adventures. My trusty Evernote account open, I made a note titled “California Plans”. I would have named it adventures instead but that thought hadn’t crossed my mind yet, also it would have been cheesy. The list included activities such as group karaoke, snowboarding, fencing, rock climbing, and several other things I have never done before; I longed to tackle everything in two weeks. It was going to be an amazing first return home.

December 15th arrived and my buddies picked me up so I could surprise my grandparents who weren’t expecting me yet. The surprise goes as planned then I made plans for the night to meet up with them and some others.

I wish I were a superhero. No, not the type that flies around, shoots lasers through his eyes, and then walks through walls. I don’t long to be in some Stan Lee cartoon or film adaptation. Instead, I wish I could help those in need, regardless of how troubled, saving them from their faults and unfortunate situations.

Look at me, I’m talking like some sort of soon-to-be superhero, dawning his cowl for the first time. My English butler-aid would ask me, “Who will you be saving today, sir?” I guess maybe in some ways I am a superhero.

The things that cut the deepest are the situations that seem the most unfair, the most unforgiving; they’re the ones that hit closest to home, while in my case was quite literal. I had two tenants who lived in my house, sharing my roof for two years or so. Their names were Paul and Carol and they were two of the most genuinely beautiful couples you can hope to meet, on the outside at least. Surely not without their own characteristic faults, but nonetheless truly life-appreciating people. It’s unfair how life has treated them for the past few decades. Did I mention they’re both older than my grandparents? Imagine that.

Starbucks for me has always been an amazing place of excitement. The atmosphere always felt just right for not only the high school and college crowd, but also young adults, and even people of business. I love walking to Starbucks or even Coffee Bean on any given day with a friend or two just so we can enjoy a quick ice cold Frappuccino. Then we’d excitedly sit down on the not too flashy black chairs and just converse on any topic. It was the simple things.

There’s something about the aura that makes you want to open up more. Not to mention the fact that there’s a sort of pop culture image of the intellectual or soulful tortured artist that ties in with the coffee shop scene. This image makes you feel like you are indeed an intellectual, taking part in an ancient tradition that may lead back to the great philosophers of Greece themselves.

When some people think of Starbucks, some terms may pop into their head. Maybe one person may shout out “overpriced”, the moment the coffee behemoth is mentioned. A more snobby critique would be “hipster”, and maybe put more kindly “lame”. It has an interestingly negative reputation, as all companies seem to once they dominate a certain market (think Walmart vs. small, local businesses).

Quite honestly though, the whole coffee shop scene that have swept across the states in recent years opens up a lot of amazing opportunities, for example:

Discussion article asking the readers to share with the rest of the community what they think the biggest success myths are. For example, “college is the only path to success,” one of the biggest myths commonly accepted as fact.