SAN DIEGO — Have you watched the news today? Oh boy.

The Trump administration's invasion of Chicago. Attacks on houses of worship. The government shutdown. The murder of Charlie Kirk. The division of a nation that was supposed to be "indivisible." All this and more weighs on the hearts and minds of many Americans.

I need a break. So today, I'm rummaging through the emotions that have been stirred up by my upcoming 40th high school reunion.

My wife and I will drive 300 miles up the highway to my hometown in the farmland of Central California. In my case, I'll also be traveling back in time four decades.

Perhaps that explains why I've been thinking about one of my favorite episodes of the classic television series, "The Twilight Zone." "Walking Distance" first aired in October 1959.

We're told the story of Martin Sloan, a 36-year-old vice president of a New York ad agency. He is miserable, and hates his job. While driving on a country road in 1959, Sloan stops to have his car serviced at a gas station. He finds himself within walking distance of his hometown.

He walks into town, where he is amazed that not much has changed since he was a boy. He visits the drugstore, where he is amazed that an ice cream soda still cost only 10 cents. He walks to the park, where he is startled to see himself as an 11-year-old boy. The year is 1934.

Later, when he meets a younger version of his father, Sloan realizes what brought him to that place and time.

"I've been living in a dead run and I was tired," he says. "One day, I knew I had to come back here. I had to come back, and get on a merry-go-round and eat cotton candy and listen to a band concert. I had to stop and breathe, and close my eyes and smell and listen."

The concept of "hometowns" has always captured my imagination. Besides the other traits that I write about (father, husband, journalist, centrist, Mexican American, etc.), I'm also a country mouse.

My worldview wouldn't be the same if I had not been lucky enough to grow up in Sanger, California, a small town in farm country. What a blessing it was to come of age at a time and place where people got along most of the time and cared about the well-being of strangers.

At 18, I showed my lack of appreciation by running away from home. I went to college all the way across the country, as far as I could go without getting my feet wet in the Atlantic. My high school friends witnessed the jailbreak. Back then, they could see that I was obsessed with just one thing: getting the heck out.

The unofficial chronicler of the 1980s — and, in fact, of most of my life — is Bruce Springsteen. The master songwriter was speaking directly to me when he penned the final lyric of "Thunder Road": It's a town full of losers, I'm pulling out of here to win.

I've grown up a lot since then thanks to life, loss and love. Life — to borrow from another Springsteen classic, "Born To Run" — "ripped the bones from (my) back." Loss taught me humility. Love made me whole.

Now, in a twist, some of my old friends hear me talk with nostalgia about where we grow up. They don't feel the same. They remember racism and low expectations and small-town gossip. I remember those things too, but I also recall the good things.

That's why I'm going home. If past reunions are any guide, there will be tears and laughs and fond memories. The experience will spin me out, and make me happy-sad. It'll be heartwarming to see old friends. But, when the party is over, it'll be painful to say goodbye — again.

Life is a puzzle. All that time and effort I spent so long trying to escape that time and place, and now I'd give anything to go back.

When I graduated from high school in 1985, America was still the land of the free. Due process was still a thing. So was empathy. People didn't hate each other. Life wasn't easy or perfect, but it was simple and good.

Is it too much to ask that Americans could recapture some of that? It would take a lot of hard work. If such a place exists, I fear that, from where are now, it's a lot farther than walking distance.

To find out more about Ruben Navarrette and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

Photo credit: Caleb Wright at Unsplash