Things I Think About Thursday: Back In My Lover’s Arms

Almost no one I know was born here.
We come to her in pilgrimage to find our wildness.
She is sometimes a hard and bitter lover, but she is magical.
And as I was flying towards JFK International Airport, I got tears in my eyes just seeing the landscape of her again.
Picture 16
After a 8 hour night train from St. Petersburg to Moscow
After a 3 hour flight from Moscow to London
and a 7 hour flight from London To my beloved New York..
My feet found the 56 stairs
to the door of the place I’ve made my home for 13 years.
brooklyn-bridge-2
My key found the lock of the place I left over a month ago
and I dropped my bags
and collapsed on the purple carpet
relieved
happy
dirty
exhausted
full of stories of adventures
all while getting kiss attacked by a tiny 9 pound chihuahua.
Home.
And this morning, my body threw me out of bed at 6am
because it knew it was already 2 in the afternoon in Moscow…
and 11am in London.
And I had overslept.
But time means nothing.
And I curled up against sleeping Burke and Niney
while the world charged on in afternoons and late mornings.

Photo Courtesy Elizabeth Dorney

Photo Courtesy Elizabeth Dorney

The church bells down the street just chimed nine times.
My lucky number
in my lucky city.
And for some reason, with all the stacks of books near my bed,
I reached over and grabbed
The Essays of E.B. White
and flipped to “This is New York”
because it’s been awhile since I’ve read it
I wanted to share the first paragraph with you:

“On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy. It is this largess that accounts for the presence within the city’s walls of a considerable section of the population; for the residents of Manhattan are to a large extent strangers who have pulled up stakes somewhere and come to town, seeking sanctuary or fulfillment or some greater or lesser grail. The capacity to make such dubious gifts is a mysterious quality of New York. It can destroy an individual, or it can fulfill him, depending a good deal on luck. No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky.”

I am willing to be lucky
because with the life I have chosen
I have no other choice.

Where in the world are you as you read these words?
Where is your home?
And tell me in the comments…
what is most “home” to you about the place you live?
What would you miss most if you were gone from there (besides the people)?

Curious to hear what you will answer.