when the lagoon freezes over

850I got home from New York City last night around midnight. I can’t imagine that only 24 hours ago I was sitting in the NYC airport finishing up The Catcher In The Rye and thinking of how much I loved the depressed Holden Caulfield, while wrestling with not wanting to go home but facing the inevitable of doing so.

Here’s the thing about going and leaving: it’s uncertain. Some experiences leave you with this zeal for leaving you never ever want to forget. New York left me with a so said zeal. That’s why I dreaded going home. I dreaded the uncertainty of such a zeal leaving. It makes me think of Holden Caulfield, dreading growing up. Why? Because it’s uncertain. As he asks the Taxi driver about where the ducks go in the winter, he’s actually asking about himself, “By any chance, do you happen to know where they go, the ducks, when it gets all frozen over? Do you happen to know, by any chance?” Where does he go? And in the same way, as I leave one place journeying to the next I ask myself:  Where do we go from here? Where do I go?

I don’t know where I go from here. But I do know that less than twenty hours I finally arrived home, tucked myself in my own bed in my own home, and it all felt good. I thought about the sun reflects off the houses at sunset around Greenwich Village and creak of the Subway rails and thought about  ‘How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard’. Here’s the other thing about going and leaving: you always come home at some point. And when you do, you realize how beautiful going home can be and you wondered why you dreaded it all along.

When the lagoon freezes, birds fly south for the winter. If they can move on every winter, I can too.

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