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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