Returning from a recent trip to Virginia (actually still stuck in Dulles airport while I type this) that kindled feelings of nostalgia for The DC Metropolitan Area, a place I used to call home.
I saw open spaces, the greenery that adorned it, and a profound lack of showiness or soul-crushing machinery.
Never mind that I strongly dislike the outdoors. When I was living here I was more content with holing up in my little DC studio apartment away from the effects of light and sun and air would have on my nearly-daily hangover. Or that the work culture that flourishes in the DC petri dish is the very definition of soul-crushing machinery.
And I have to remind myself that every place gives one an opportunity for self-deception, especially New York. We magnify the dislikes into hardships and the conveniences into glowing nirvanas. We all love to bitch and brag, but never really sure on any given day which condition warrants which label.
As in all things, it is what we make of it. It’s good to be home.