In most places on Earth, merchandise branded with city names is marketed to tourists who want to return home with something that associates them with where they visited. You might wear a ‘Paris’ hoody to show how elegantly you sipped coffee in Parisian cafes. Or maybe you buy a ball cap that screams ‘I love New York,’ an advertisement that connects you to the ever-trendy city that never sleeps. But, I swear, Santa Cruz is the only place I’ve seen in the world where this paradigm is turned on its head. The locals are the ones proudly donning the apparel and accessories branded with the name of where they are from. Sporting the words ‘Santa Cruz’ brands us as Santa Cruzans — cool, hip, liberal, forward-thinking, hippies. To an outsider, it might appear cult-like, or even snobby, but to us Santa Cruzans, we hardly even notice it. My childhood wardrobe resembled a walking commercial for this town. This is where and how I was born and raised.

After spending my entire pre-adult life living in this quirky surf town, I first moved away when I was eighteen to study in a ‘big’ city, San Diego. With a new vantage point, I became suddenly self-aware of the subconscious superiority complex with which we Santa Cruzans are conditioned to carry ourselves. We think that we come from the best place in the world (maybe we do?) and that others do not. We pity those who have to get stuck in bumper-to-bumper Highway 17 traffic when they want a taste of the beach. When a freshman-year college friend jokingly mocked how often I brought up where I was from, I realized he had a point. That’s kind of annoying. And I realized that these are qualities that are not ideal for making new friends. After that, I consciously stopped talking so much about Santa Cruz.

As much as we like to gloat about it, Santa Cruz is undeniably a unique place. It’s hard to describe it for those who have never spent time here. I’ll try to paint a bit of the picture. When I was young “Keep Santa Cruz Weird” bumper stickers became the motto of the town. There was a well-known clown named Twister who got arrested for feeding other people’s parking meters with quarters. A middle-aged man named Robert was a local celebrity because he wore a pink dress and walked the length of downtown at a less-than-snail pace always with an umbrella in hand. (Everyone from Santa Cruz knows the ‘Umbrella Man.’) Santa Cruz was the first place where Hawaiian princes brought surfing to North America, which eventually led the town to become a world-renowned surfing enclave with a pesky reputation for violent localism. The town’s dark forests of towering redwoods contain long, yellow banana slugs, while the frigid ocean teems with endangered sea otters — both creatures that awe visitors, but are another day at the office for Santa Cruzans. The town’s amusement park boasts the oldest rollercoaster in the state. And finally, Santa Cruz has a particular reputation for the all-American problems of drug addiction and homelessness, as thousands of people live unsheltered on the city’s streets. Mix all those factors with 20,000 university students, the world’s technology capital a stone’s throw over a mountain, an outrageous cost of living, over one million tourists who visit each year, and one of the most liberal voting bases in the country — you can see the fascinating concoction that brews in this small town of 60,000.

Now, after thirteen years of living in San Diego with a few stints abroad, I have returned to Santa Cruz. I’ve spent the better part of the last couple of months living in this town. And in many ways, things are just as I left them back in 2010. The towering eucalyptus trees that stand in the small urban jungle behind my mom’s house still sway with the westerly afternoon winds. Some of the earthquake-warped sidewalks still have the same twists and turns that I learned to navigate on my skateboard by memory as a child. When the morning air is still, I can hear the barks of the wharf-dwelling sea lions carrying more than a mile to my house. The same families are still running the local taquerias. And even though we are in the age of Amazon two-day shipping, the historic Book Shop Santa Cruz still survives as the cornerstone of the city’s downtown.

Of course, plenty of things have changed, too. The Umbrella Man is now a mere urban legend of the past. After fighting tooth and nail for decades to (successfully) keep In-N-Out Burger and Outback Steakhouse out of our town, we gladly rolled out the red carpet for REI, whose high-end, designer outdoor gear and environmental ethos fit this Walmart-less town like a glove. Among the local gossip, the principal concern haunting people’s minds is the new (not-so-high) high-rises that are being built downtown. There’s a palpable fear that the unique peculiarities and character that make Santa Cruz cool enough to wear across your chest, will vanish among the modern apartments. Everyone agrees that there is a housing crisis, but high-density apartments are not “weird” enough, I suppose.

This homecoming has felt like a bit of a retreat for me. Prior to coming back, I had spent 22 months traveling the world, exposed to the constant stimulus of new countries, languages, cultures, foods, and people. The opposite is true in Santa Cruz. I know this city like the back of my hand — the streets, trails, and coastline. Thus, I have been enjoying laying low and appreciating the simple things, like a small-town bike ride down quiet streets without traffic, taking the dog to the park, and voraciously reading books. It’s been nice to empty out my bag of belongings into a dresser, for once. The people that I associate with Santa Cruz are different now too. Many of my friends from my childhood have left town. Most of those who remain are busy because they are married, have demanding jobs, own homes, or have kids. Some have vanished into the underworld of Santa Cruz’s not-so-clandestine curse of drug addiction.

But just like when I lived here, and also when I was away, the ocean is my haven where I unwind, exercise, and release endorphins. These days when I paddle out at my local surf breaks, the places where I formed some of my fondest teenage memories, I hardly recognize anyone. And no one recognizes me, nor should they. During one recent Pleasure Point session, an older guy was vocalizing his complaints about the lack of “regulars” in the lineup. I could tell he was including me in that category of outcasts, causing me to silently chuckle to myself. There is a whole new generation of toe-headed 13-year-olds who travel in packs of three to four, just like I did with my friends in the not-so-distant past. I can’t help but feel old when I think about how they were probably fetuses the last time I lived here — another reminder of how long I’d been gone.

Regardless of the city’s pros and cons, I naturally do love it here. When I was in grade school my mom was considering moving us away, which caused my siblings and I to throw fits. We could not imagine living anywhere else. I am blessed to have been lucky enough to grow up sandwiched between the beach and the mountains. But, as with anywhere in the world, it’s good to get out of Santa Cruz, too. The world can feel small if you stay here too long. While I am ‘living’ here at the moment, I am also comically uncommitted to being here long term. I am not saying it’s completely out of the cards, but let’s just say since I got back from my travels, I never bothered unpacking my toiletries bag. There’s no need to get too comfortable. But even with my toiletries at the ready, it’s been good to be back and breathe in that crisp Northern California air. There’s only one Santa Cruz and it has shaped who I am today. It’s good to be home.