love, life, and the pursuit of liberation
This August, I will have been in NYC almost as long as I lived in California, where I grew up. My grandparents drove me to freshman orientation back in 1996, and I haven’t lived in California beyond school breaks since then.
I’ve relocated from this area a total of 3 times in my adult life, and every time, I’ve come back to this place I’ve reluctantly called home. Each time, I was hoping to capture something that I loved from childhood—space, sun, family. But each time, the allure of freedom, the full spectrum of diversity, the chance to make myself over a thousand times over, and a place where being different is the norm, called me back.
This last time, when LA was 3 months, I thought moving back was a mistake. This place doesn’t cater to backyards, changing tables, or affordable daycares. We wondered if there could be a place that will both appeal to our multi-layered selves, as well as meet our desire to provide LA a childhood close to aunts and cousins to give her the true bosom of family. Each time we explore new places, we yearn for the familiarity and complexity of home, of New York.
We found a new apartment yesterday in Brooklyn, and it mirrors the block, the brownstone, the community of my Crooklyn fantasies. My pastor at Unity of New York had a sermon two weeks ago about the magic of New York. Multiple signs point me in a direction of acceptance and Being. They remind me that perhaps I need to be still and enjoy what is, instead of wondering what could be or trying to capture what was.
“..whether I come to my own today or in ten thousand or ten million years,
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait”– from Song of Myself, Walt Whitman