I missed you last week, I really did. On the Saturday in question, I was on a plane, in airports, in between people and places and things. Going away never fails to unsettle me; usually in a good way, but occasionally in ways that are hard to look in the eye. This time, it was like returning to both a stranger me and a better me—I was uncomfortable because I'd grown. I'd had conversations that had brushed against some of my most rooted beliefs, been forced to admit certain things, defend others. These things are inherently healthy, but in this instance I wasn't sure what I was returning to; my altered self protested at the idea of returning to