I don’t think of grownup people as getting homesick, unless they’re away at war, but I’ve been pretty lonely for my family and Boston friends lately, so I was happy to go home for the weekend. It was my friend Cathy’s birthday. We had a party on Sara’s roofdeck. We drank sangria and ate entirely too much. It was a fine old time.
A note about the ridiculousness of my homesickness: I live exactly 204 miles from my folks, which isn’t that far, if you think about it. It’s only a 40-minute plane ride away. Most of my friends in New York are much farther from their family than I am, unless they’re actually from New York — but then again, maybe most of them don’t like their family as much as I do.
A short while ago, I was talking to Smyres about how bizarre it is to find myself missing someone no matter where I am. Most people get to that earlier, I know. They go to college far away, or they move to another state after they graduate. I mostly stayed put, until I ran away from home at the tender age of 29, so this is all new to me.
“You get used to it,” Smyres said. After she left Boston, her Mom went back to L.A., where they’re from. So she can’t even visit for a weekend, if she wants. It’s too far away. Also, it’s expensive.
Smyres is right, but I have a ways to go before I’m totally used to this. Things change while you’re not there, and it’s weird to come home to find out that some of your friends are thinking about having babies, and others have new boyfriends or jobs. I feel totally the same, which is silly, because I’m the one who moved.
When I moved, I thought it might only be for a few years, and it still might, but now I’m not sure where I’ll be. I might stay in New York, where I feel more at home than I ever have anywhere, despite being far away from the home I started out in. I might move back to Boston. I might learn French and move to Paris. Who knows.
That’s exciting, I guess, but it’s also weird. My friends are having babies, and I’m thinking of renting an apartment that comprises more than one room. I feel ten years younger than I should.
After our 47th glass of sangria, I mentioned this to Cathy. (OK, “mentioned” is a bit slicker than the actual situation. I think what I really said was, “Boo hoo hoo, you guys are real grownups and I have only one drinking glass at the moment, because I keep dropping them at 4 a.m., and anyway, they’re from the Christmas Tree Shop, because I’ve never registered for anything.”)
And, of course, the grass is always greener, because Cathy pointed out that she couldn’t have decided to move to New York on a whim, cuz maybe her husband would have wanted some input.