Reentry. Home is not a place.
A summer of goodbyes and a summer of hope.
From my apartment in Brooklyn, catching sunsets from my window is a rarity. The obstruction of trees and other buildings make them impossible to see from my third floor window unless the entirety of the sky lights up orange and pink.
So you won’t be surprised when I tell you that I took a photo of the sun setting from my in-law’s house in Washington everyday for two weeks. This view is a gift and I spent a lot of time on the couch reading and staring out this window.
It’s true that no two sunsets are alike. This one below was my favorite. After the sun dipped below the tree line, the progression of color began to spread like a bead of red ink dropped into a glass of water.
I’m back home in Brooklyn now. I read there was a nice sunset in the city last night, but I couldn’t see it. What I can see from my window are tree branches and a potted pepper plant on our balcony that is dotted with ripe red chilis.
But beyond what I can see, it's the sounds that have pulled me right back to New York after three weeks away: snippets of loud conversations drifting from the sidewalk; the laughter of kids running in the playground across the street; squeaky breaks as a city bus door exhales open; the woosh of cars and the occasional impatient honking horn.
While running an errand a day after we flew back home, I turned to my teenager and commented, “Brooklyn is so different from grandma’s neighborhood isn’t it?”
We traded picking wild blackberries on the side of the road for Halal and empanadas carts on the sidewalk. Instead of complete darkness at night, the glow of streetlights filter in through the curtains. We heard more languages during our neighborhood walk than we did throughout our entire trip out west. For the first time in three weeks, I didn’t throw on a sweatshirt first thing as I woke up to ward off the morning chill.
Home
As we descended into JFK at midnight, my teen pressed her face to the airplane window and then took a million pictures of the grid of city lights below on her phone. I could tell that more than any other time we flew into New York, the city had etched itself in her heart as home.
I used to be hit hard by post-travel blues, but now I’m thinking there's nothing like stepping in through the front door and being greeted by my cat. There's nothing like sleeping in your own bed. The first thing we did the next morning was buy a half dozen bagels. There’s nothing like a NYC bagel.
While our reentry back was very much a visceral NYC experience, where you live is not the only thing that defines home.
Home is feeling the comfort of a food so familiar that it feels like an embrace the minute it hits your tastebuds.
Home is when your teenager grabs your hand while walking down to the rocky beach nearly every evening to skip smooth, flat pebbles into Puget Sound.
Home is spending a few days at a girlfriend’s house who I hadn’t seen in years and wishing that we lived closer because every time I see her, I think it’s a shame that a friend that dear lives 3,000 miles away.
Home is spending time with family that you only get to see once a year.
In an unexpected turn of events on our trip, we may have said a final goodbye to a family member. Although it was not entirely unexpected because of prolonged ill health, it is never easy when that time comes. Time will tell if it was a true goodbye or a goodbye-for-now, but we drove back from the hospital in silence, deep in our own individual thoughts about mortality and the circle of life.
Home is being able to sit with quietness in the company of others without the need to break the silence.
Hope
In the middle of it all, there was a shift in the country while I was away. The Democratic party coalesced and memes of hope and positive energy have been running wild on social. Our Olympic athletes proudly holding up the American flag dominated the screens. We’re being reminded of who America really is and what our flag stands for. We needed this. The flag had become a symbol of the wrong kind of patriotism and intolerance for too long.
In what has been remarkable timing between the political shakeup of the summer and the sportsmanship coming out of the Paris Olympics, I haven’t felt this warm and fuzzy about our country in nearly a decade. It was everything that was missing and it turned the summer around.
I think this trip changed me and the kid profoundly too from what was a difficult start to summer. I saw her mature in ways that I couldn’t have imagined. She learned how to cook. She took care of me when I was sick. I could feel in my bones that she would be ok and this gave me comfort for the future. Something really special further bonded us during our time together. Maybe it was the silent acknowledgement that every new day was a day closer to a new beginning, apart. She promised to take me on a mother/daughter trip on my 60th birthday.
We didn’t really talk about college much for a change. We suspended all of that until we got home, but now that we’re here, I can’t help but look back and feel like this was our long goodbye.
I know that it will hit me as we start to dismantle her room and pack her things.
I know that it is only a goodbye-for-now.
Related reading
Links & things
Tasty haute couture: Why certain food and fashion collabs just make sense (Salon) Would you carry a limited-edition bag that looks like a packet of ketchup?
The Age of Average (Alex Murrell) A fascinating read about why everything looks the same: interiors, coffee shops, cars, media.
If you’re in Seattle, a visit to Ghost Note Coffee for their signature drinks. It shouldn’t make sense that grapefruit aromatics, coconut water, or lime would mix well with espresso—but it does, in completely surprising ways.
Seeing Green: Why We Should All Be Paying Attention to Plants (Literary Hub)
“Plant lore is getting lost because, in the Anthropocene, we have re-imagined ourselves as separate from the nature, only requiring other species to serve us as natural resources. We fail to learn the names of plants, because we do not consider their importance.”
This is beautiful. A poem by Marie Howe, accompanied by animation by paper artist Elena Skoreyko Wagner with music by cellist, Zoë Keating. (The Marginalian)
I didn't expect this piece to hit on so many levels. Like you have mentioned, life got simplified in many ways when the kids grew up. Little did I know this was a phase. I was not expecting to read of seeing an ill relative for possibly the last time. Just last night, my ailing father stated he wants to go back to Asia to live out his last years....months perhaps. We just don't know. We have a very complicated relationship with my parents but the thought of suddenly seeing him for the last time as we drop him off on the other side of the world has really thrown me for an emotional loop. It's like the opposite of dropping one's child off at school or camp. The complexities of life. It's so hard. Thank you for reminding us that we have shared experiences and we are not alone.
Lovely writing, as always, Jenna. I had a tear in my eye as this will be my reality next summer...preparing myself for what will pass in a blink, I am sure.