To begin, there were several things about home I missed. My friends. Kind people. Sober people. Slow drivers. Clean sidewalks. My animals and house. My bed. My herbs and vegetable garden. That means there are several things about Boston I was glad to leave behind, too. Being afraid to go home in the dark. Being afraid to set out the trash. Being afraid to walk to or from the bus. Being afraid to ride the bus, and the subway. Being afraid of night, period. No air conditioners. Small yards. Carrying my groceries 2 hours home. Small, cramped grocery stores. Pushing. Groping. Crowds of people who don't wear deodorant. Working 7 hours in a library without talking. Rush hour. Sticky rain.
But as with most formative experiences, I felt changed by my time in Boston, too. Mixed in with the relief of being around something familiar, and being near people I love, I felt trepidation when I came home. So there are things about Boston I miss, and they pull on me too. Time to read a book in the morning on my commute. Chicken sausage. Fresh, affordable, organic food. Barack Obama stickers. Anti-war sentiment. Faces, languages, belief systems different from mine. Public transportation. Not paying for gasoline in my car. Bollywood movies in movie theaters. Used book stores everywhere. H&M. Walking. 77 degree weather. Historic landmarks on every single corner. Schooners. No TV. No radio. Talking to Andrew. Concord. Stores that sell tea. A library full of every single resource I've ever needed to write my dissertation. Living statues. People who dress up as revolutionaries. Whales.
But I guess being torn at this point in my career is natural. It's probably my brain getting me ready for our eventual move -- God willing I get a job --, which is going to be emotionally draining. Change is terrifying. For now, I think I'll go pick a tomato. And drink iced tea on my porch. And talk to Andrew.