In The Best Of All Worlds
To begin, it should be understood that I am in the last leg of one of the best weekends of my life. The perfect blend of activity, intimacy, adventure, loafing and excess. In a car stuffed with friends, old and new, we made a pilgrimage to Westfield Shoppingtown in West County, where we had Alfonzo show us around. It really is a fantastic mall, though I wouldn't want to live there. We made our way back to school, with many detours, and ending the day with a fantastic party in Dauten 23. Short Island Iced Tea, how I love you. Peppermint schapps, as well. Beer tastes just as much like urine as it used to. I woke, this morning, with crusty eyes and dry lips, curled into a smile. The only downside to this weekend is the homework fallout I've left for myself; a pile which, as I type, is being put off further.
And still, in all of this, I think of home. Both nights, this weekend, Carl's dad, Stu, has appeared in my dreams. Friday night, I spotted him through a window of my old school; he had fallen asleep while preparing his curriculum. I glanced only briefly before moving on, finding two members of the class of 2005 wearing pumpkins on their heads and moaning ominously.
Saturday night, I found myself in a very busy airport, standing with friends of mine, though I cannot remember who. I spotted, through the crowd, Stu, with a surprised look on his face. I made my way through the crowd, then brought him back to introduce him to my friends.
Stu isn't one of the most important characters from my hometown, but he is a character I take for granted when I am home. He's an anchor, in a lot of ways; a dot on the map, to which many I love are attached. In that way, a dream about him reminds me of all those others I left in Atlanta.
It brings to mind my trip to California last Spring Break. I was having the time of my life, exploring in a way I had never done before, nor even dreamed of. Still, when I looked into the strange and foriegn faces around me, I could not stop seeing my friends and family. A woman much like my mother rollerblading through Golden Gate park, the spitting image of Carl's girlfriend, Kelci, on the ferry to Alcatraz, or Carl's mother, Lucy, serving me spinach and artichoke dip in Sausalito. All these things served to remind me that, though I was at the peak of my happiness, things would have been made perfect if everyone I know was there with me.
This, I think, is the tragedy of making friends and exploring the world. The more people you meet and the more places you go, the more you have to leave behind. This is why, as long as I am alive and able, I will live my life by tracing larger and larger circles around the planet. I'll get to see everyone I've ever known, and still go someplace new, only to add that new place to the cycle before choosing a new one. I think that is the only way I can be perfectly happy.
I'd call it homesickness, but I'm happy where I am. I wish I could take where I am and where I come from and put them together, but I cannot. I resign to living life where I am, for the moment, until I can return home and live it there again.
In the spirit of this post, this week's theme post will be "one thing we miss about being home, along with one thing we love about being here". The theme will start, as it has thus far, on Monday morning. That gives Alfonzo time to get his favorite movie in.
-Alan
And still, in all of this, I think of home. Both nights, this weekend, Carl's dad, Stu, has appeared in my dreams. Friday night, I spotted him through a window of my old school; he had fallen asleep while preparing his curriculum. I glanced only briefly before moving on, finding two members of the class of 2005 wearing pumpkins on their heads and moaning ominously.
Saturday night, I found myself in a very busy airport, standing with friends of mine, though I cannot remember who. I spotted, through the crowd, Stu, with a surprised look on his face. I made my way through the crowd, then brought him back to introduce him to my friends.
Stu isn't one of the most important characters from my hometown, but he is a character I take for granted when I am home. He's an anchor, in a lot of ways; a dot on the map, to which many I love are attached. In that way, a dream about him reminds me of all those others I left in Atlanta.
It brings to mind my trip to California last Spring Break. I was having the time of my life, exploring in a way I had never done before, nor even dreamed of. Still, when I looked into the strange and foriegn faces around me, I could not stop seeing my friends and family. A woman much like my mother rollerblading through Golden Gate park, the spitting image of Carl's girlfriend, Kelci, on the ferry to Alcatraz, or Carl's mother, Lucy, serving me spinach and artichoke dip in Sausalito. All these things served to remind me that, though I was at the peak of my happiness, things would have been made perfect if everyone I know was there with me.
This, I think, is the tragedy of making friends and exploring the world. The more people you meet and the more places you go, the more you have to leave behind. This is why, as long as I am alive and able, I will live my life by tracing larger and larger circles around the planet. I'll get to see everyone I've ever known, and still go someplace new, only to add that new place to the cycle before choosing a new one. I think that is the only way I can be perfectly happy.
I'd call it homesickness, but I'm happy where I am. I wish I could take where I am and where I come from and put them together, but I cannot. I resign to living life where I am, for the moment, until I can return home and live it there again.
In the spirit of this post, this week's theme post will be "one thing we miss about being home, along with one thing we love about being here". The theme will start, as it has thus far, on Monday morning. That gives Alfonzo time to get his favorite movie in.
-Alan
posted by Alan Orlanski at 5:26 PM
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