I just dropped off my family

at the BART station, after a three-day visit. It (the visit) was almost more than I could handle, as my family's criticisms cut very deep. The thing is, I'd rather be happy than wealthy. I'd rather spend ten dollars at an independent bookstore than five for the same thing at a chain. I spoil myself in certain ways because I like to feel pretty. But ultimately, as long as I have food, friends, and a door to close, the basics are covered. I'd rather risk dying alone and lonely than marry someone I don't love and who doesn't love me. I don't plan to take a job unless I'm convinced that I would enjoy working at the place and they would like me, too. I would never, ever, ever be happy living in a gated neighborhood next to a golf course. We're all going to die in the end, so why on earth should I settle for less than what feels right to me? But in my family's presence, I feel oppressed by their way of doing things. It's as though by doing what I'd like to do, they think I'm being judgmental.

Halfway through their trip I took my family by bus to visit Matty. Without thinking I walked them to the wrong bus stop, and then it occurred to me that we needed to be on the opposite side of the street. When I explained that we needed to cross, my father said that I hadn't changed a bit, and my mother snickered. Actually, I've changed a great deal in the 23 years I've been entirely on my own: I joined the Peace Corps, moved to California, bought a house, earned my Master's, planned a wedding, cancelled a wedding, moved to San Francisco, started my life all over again from scratch, and sold my house. How could I possibly go through all that and remain the same? But one thing hasn't changed: I am not flawless, and I never will be, and so there will always be something for my family to point out to me.