One year ago, Peter and I were eating bagels on our stoop while a couple of sweaty movers packed up our truck. We headed north, and four hours later were outside our current apartment, waiting for a second set of sweaty movers to arrive and unload our truck. I haven't been back in NYC since.
Do you ever think about all the streets you used to walk on that you never pass now? In D.C., I walked on H Street; on the Upper West Side, I walked on Central Park West; in Brooklyn, I walked on 5th Avenue. Every day. Now, never.
Sometimes I think about the street I lived on in Italy while I was studying abroad. It was on the outskirts of Perugia. Most of my friends were situated closer to the city center. Via Porcini, I think it was called. I wonder if, when I go back there, I'll be able to remember all the twisty turns that lead to that old apartment building; recognize the particular stone wall that indicates I'm on the right path.
* * *
Moving to Boston was different than all the rest because I want to stay here. Everything was temporary right from the get-go in other cities. Now we think, "Which neighborhood will we buy in?" and "I want to be at this job for a long time."
I thought it would be feel different, sticky, boring to have these feelings. I have always loved thinking about what's next - probably a little too much. Is this growing up? Or just finding the right spot?
This post took a slightly different turn than I had intended when I set out, because all I really wanted to say was this: Thanks, Boston, for having me. Here's to many more happy years together.