The Place Just Changes the Light

On travel and time, and what happens when our past, present, and future selves meet at the intersection

The light in February in Southern California is even all day. No drama, not much movement, just a steady brightness that makes everything look like itself. In In Minnesota, in contrast, the February sun starts setting at four-thirty and the world outside is mostly brown ice. California hummingbirds come to the feeder outside the kitchen window, reminding me that back home, cardinals are among the only birds that stay.

We have been in Ventura for ten days. We came here for the warmth, of course, or that’s the simple version. We also drove to California because we could, and because there is a point at which staying home starts to feel less like endurance and more like defeat. And the fullest version of the story involves how Jon’s lungs—under siege for more than a year already—became host to pneumonia that arrived early this winter and dug in for weeks before driving us to the ER. The strong antibiotic the doctor eventually prescribed, which cleared the infection, ended up damaging the …