Putting miles on the nostalgia card.
Being homesick without wanting to go home.
Every time I visit home I come back with a chip on my shoulder.
My sass is through the roof, my attitude leads my emotions. It feels gross and comforting at the same time.
As soon as I touch down to Newark Airport my shoulders instinctually reach for my ears, it’s what I like to call the ‘Northeast shrug.’ It feels like a mix of bracing for the anxiety that will inevitably pop in to say ‘HI, I MISSED YOU’ and preparing myself for the warp speed at which people move, their feet on an automatic conveyor belt of having to get there faster than the next person.
Coffee - that’s the first blanket of comfort I need when I arrive home. It happens before I even grab my luggage or a ride to my next destination, because the burnt taste and universal smell is what my body needs to regulate to the surroundings.
Nostalgia has a funny way of winding itself into the tiniest snippets of your life. It’s in the way the leaves look at the beginning of the changing season or in the FOR LEASE sign on a building. It greets you with pangs of guilt and pulls at your heart strings with a smirk, tempting you to think about what if’s and should I’s.
The skyline - a staple of life for almost 10 years, gleamed at me through every single breath. Showing off during sunrise, standing tall and proud as fireworks celebrating holidays and random Tuesdays, I couldn’t get away from it if I tried. There were days I didn’t even acknowledge it, being so used to having it as a backdrop to the simple tasks of everyday.
Laundry with Chrysler, walking the dogs with One World Trade, existentialism along side the Empire State Building; these were my neighbors.
At other times, I thanked that same skyline through tears of gratitude and outspoken affirmations, not feeling worthy enough to be apart of its radius.
Am I a snob or a human who’s seeing something different for the first time?
Am I entitled or feeling out of place?
Am I an asshole or just trying to figure it out?
There’s a certain type of awareness around knowing your introversion and the limits it longs for. Regulating your nervous system isn’t just a phrase used for hyperbole, it’s how you stay grounded when emotional deluge starts to kick in.
Maybe the shine and luster of something new is wearing off with the polish of monotony.
Maybe being homesick is actually just an illusion.
Maybe self-awareness is just another phrase for being self-righteous.
I’ve walked around majority of my life thinking I’m a selfish person. In truth, aren’t we all? We’re brought into this world screaming for something we don’t even know what of and then we’re taught to be selfless, put others before ourselves, be nice, compliant, and easy to be around.
The ‘cool girl’ persona runs deeps.
The other day a woman told me I was ‘cool’. I laughed uncomfortably, not knowing how to take the “compliment,” but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel good, at least she didn’t see me as a try-hard. There are still days I look at myself in the mirror and wonder if the woman staring back is cool enough, acceptable enough to be living the extraordinary live she’s living.
That woman found herself in a West Village bar full of twenty somethings on a Fall day - and she couldn’t stop staring at everything the surrounded her. “Culture re-shock” her best friend called it. Fall in NYC is a fashion forward, brunch addled, daylong affair of High Noons and ‘candid’ pictures taken for social media. It’s bizarre watching strangers while feeling hints of distain and massive interest in tandem.
You never know a persons’ story until you ask them about it.
When you move away from a place you’ve known your whole life, there are no rules for the integration process. There’s moments of excitement, experiencing details for the first time and there’s the ticks of sentimentality that hit you full force in the middle of a grocery store aisle, but mostly, there’s the space between that is liminal
Nostalgia runs deep in nuances you least expect.
