Today I went left along the levee during my morning jog.
Sandy headed out earlier, as I recycled and tossed the unwrappings of Christmas present the day before. He went straight across, off the path, something I think infrequently done. When there are no signs to tell us what not to do we have to make assumptions as to how we are doing wrong, and heading off the jogging path can seem a hazard or at least a convenience walking across grass soaked with a long, gray morning mist.
He heads off to explore.
I jog and think of the implications of returning to New York City.
Why don’t I say “returning home?
I have lived there 8 years.
Transience comes with its price.
Being in New Orleans is a fitting place for such speculation, as Sandy’s sister, Katie, has shifted from visitor to “home” in a matter of three years.
Year 1: Meets the man, she, a year later,
Year 2: marries and buys a house with
Year 3: has a baby with
She finds fulfilling employment, a mentor, and a career in a new field – a tech field – website interface design.
Her husband’s family is happy to welcome her and treat her as one of their own.
Like magic her roots set.
She has found her home.
Concerned about my current state of restlessness, seeing her so happily settled makes me question, “Am I looking in the wrong place? Living the wrong life? Making inadequate choices?”
Sandy asks me as we are driving, “Where would you want to live in NYC?”
I’m noncommital and mumble my instant reaction, “Chelsea,” although I feel less sure of my answer than I have in weeks.
Chelsea seemed a possibility a month back when I thought I’d continue down the lucrative path of tutoring and homeschooling for the top 1%. Offers exist to do this, but I’m teetering over my resolve to do something that directly benefits those in greater need. Use my skills to spread the wealth of knowledge. If I accept a nonprofit job, I can kiss my dreams of the Chelsea apartment goodbye. And so I have.
So I’m back to square one. Where is home? I’m quite unsure.
Where am I returning?
New York City.