When home isn't home anymore

As I was driving down Colfax Ave. on a recent weekday afternoon, I was struck by the drastic changes that have undergone the formerly run-down, prostitute-ridden Avenue. New ethnic restaurants were up and running, the street was cleaned of litter, drug addicts, prostitutes and many homeless folks. Several prominent music stores and venues were also in full operation.

Driving down Old Pearl street, I noticed tons of repaved streets, new signs and even a new stretch of highway. It seems like everywhere I look nowadays, I see something new or different than what was living in my mind.

And suddenly, it hit me: I haven't lived in Denver for five years, so really, how can I expect for it to be exactly the same? The suburbs to the north are more developed, there are tons of new immigrants from all over Asia, and the "cool" hangouts from my high school days are as hip and popular as MySpace. It shouldn't shock me that everything is different, but I can't seem to shake off this feeling that home isn't really home anymore. The things that I used to miss about Denver are completely different now, and it's almost like I've moved to a new city that I'm discovering for the first time.