Maybe The Grass Isn't Greener, Maybe I'm Just a Bitch

I took this picture on a whim during a hike the other day and I can't stop looking at it. I should use the term hike loosely because I was all dressed up and happened to stumble upon a path that looked alluring and needed to see what lied ahead (which is very dangerous to do by yourself, I do not recommend it) (I also don't recommend hiking in heels. Heed my warnings because I was dumb enough to try). Regardless, I'm not usually a girl interested in nature. This view just caught my eye considering the circumstance I was in, and I felt the need to snap a quick pic. On Saturdays, not every Saturday but they are becoming more and more frequent as times goes on, I get in my car and head out on a journey into the city. I live in a small town called Latrobe that's basically a Hill Billy's dream world. Farms and confederate-flag-acrylic-nails can be found around every corner, and the Olive Garden along the highway is the fanciest place for miles. Sometimes I need to get away. Sometimes I need culture or danger or all of the above. When I'm somewhere, anywhere, that's not my home town, I feel like I'm in a movie. I get dressed up and take the hour and a half long drive into the city of Pittsburgh to go to museums or to eat at odd restaurants. I feel like an adult. I feel like I'm learning things even when that's not my intention at all. But then I took this picture and I felt like I had taken two steps backwards, because once I got home and laid in my bed and opened up my Camera Roll, I discovered that this was my favorite of all the pictures. I realized that I had to go to a large, populated city in order to take a picture like this. A picture that I could have easily taken in my backyard, or some place very close by. But it was my favorite. So maybe the grass is greener on the other side. Maybe we aren't miserable just because of our location, maybe we're just miserable. I always think that I'd be happier in New York City, and although I still believe that to be true, perhaps I'll pack a pair of cowboy boots just in case what little grass they have in New York City isn't so green after all.

No one knows about these secret trips. Don't tell my mom.