Wednesday, May 21, 2014

5/20/2014

Here’s a fun thing to do:  Go to New York and spend all your time dreaming about Michigan.  I am not being sarcastic.
I do not miss Michigan, at least not in the sense that has anything to do with homesickness.  But I am spending an awful lot of time actively loving my home.  
What does this look like?  It’s walking around Central Park with Frontier Ruckus in my ears and a smile on my face, thinking about the first time I drove outside of Plymouth, when I drove up Haggerty Road all the way to Walled Lake to buy a typewriter from that old woman.  
This does not mean that I am not loving every minute I am spending in New York City.  It does not mean I am not actively scheming all the other places on earth I want to, I need to see.
Helen admitted that she doesn’t keep in touch with Michigan all that much anymore.  This made me sadder than I ever thought it could.  
Not angry, mind you, not anything directed at her--she seems very happy with her life and she is amazing here.  But the sadness filled me.
It filled me because I don't want to lose touch with home. I didn't know that I felt that way.

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