I got back to New York yesterday to spend Christmas with the family. It's so good to see loved ones again, especially those I haven't seen for a while. (Though it's definetly good to see Cherie too, and I got to spend time with her only a month ago). But this is my first time coming back to New York since my parents moved out of Hampton Bays, and that means that while I'm as home as I will forever will be with my family around me, Home proper can no longer be in New York.
There's definetly been a lot of slippage of that term even from the very beginning of college. My parents had moved across town about a week before I started at Caltech, so that house was always a little foreign. And shortly after I graduated, they moved across town again. But the thing was, that I could always take my jet lagged ass out for a walk at 2a.m. and wax nostalgic for my high school days. (It's amazing how you can romanticise anything with enough time between when it happened and when you remember it).
Now I'm in a weird town. I vauguely know where I am on The Island, but to be honest, all I really know about Shirley is that their mathletes team sucked 10 years ago, and that there's a Dunken Donuts right off the freeway interchange (Sorry highway. I'm in New York) that was on one possible route to Brookhaven National Lab.
So I'm in a house with my parents furniture and stylings. It will always have a place in my heart that is connected to my childhood. But it's an oasis of love in a desert of suburbia I don't really care about any more.
And what really brings this to mind, and makes me ponder these thoughts, is that my little place in San Carlos has felt more like home through this past December than ever before. I'll get into it in another post (I think I hear Santa knocking on the chimney now, so I'll need to feign some sleep soon), but the short version is, I'm happy.