If I had to pick the question I am most frequently asked, it would be, “When are you moving home?”
Home, of course, being Boston.
For the last I-don’t-know-how-many years, I’ve had dueling, co-existing answers. The first one comes fast: “Just as soon as we can.”
The second, though, is more nuanced. Aren’t I already home? Haven’t we built a home and a life in D.C.?
The truth of the answer is that my heart is in both places. My day-to-day life is here, in D.C., but my bigger life, the one with all that past, and so much of my present and (I hope) my future, is in Massachusetts, up and down Route 95. (Not to mention the ability to watch the Sox and Pats without paying a small fortune to DirecTV.)
Yesterday, I was both so sad to leave home (Boston), and so glad to get home (Alexandria). I hated to leave the neighborhood where I know every bump in the road (literally and figuratively), the Dunkin Donuts where they move you through with no lines, no waiting, the 18 inches of now-melting snow and slush. But I was so relieved to sleep in my own bed, to walk Clar on his regular route, to run into a neighbor I see almost every day.
So much of our lives here revolve around work, and most of our lives there revolve around family. But work will follow us if and when we make the permanent drive 450 miles north, and we’ve managed to knit together quite the motley crew of friends into family here. Neither place is perfect or simple, but both are so rich.
If we get the chance to move, I know the answer will be yes, without hesitation. It won’t be without a tinge of sadness, though, for this very full life we’ve built here.
(And to answer any questions this post may prompt, no, no imminent moves are on the horizon. Just thought this was a timely post after spending 11 days at home. Home, of course, being Boston.)