Homeward Bound

I've lived in the capital region of New York since February of 2008. I have yet to call it home.

It's nothing personal. I moved here with no reluctance whatsoever. In fact, though an impulsive move, I was decisively bent on it being the perfect one at the time. But things being as they were six years ago: suddenly moving away from all friends and family in downstate New York, less than eight months later giving birth to my first child, and then two and a half years after that having my second child, I haven't taken much time to let my roots sink into the earth of upstate New York and grip. Or so I thought. My home is built on what is said to be old pig farming land. Good soil.

I chose to move to upstate New York for lots of reasons. Good reasons. But at the time, unbeknownst to me while under the potent influence of pregnancy, I thought that upstate New York might defy the time-space continuum as I knew it downstate. I thought upstate might work on a different, preferably slower, clock. I was wrong about that. Time moves at the same exact pace upstate, and when you add children, it officially runs at ludicrous speed, presumably both upstate and down. I was, however, right about the "having more space" part.

To put it plainly, I've been busy. Busy raising young children, busy settling into a home, and busy trying to do an assortment of odd jobs to supplement my husband's income and keep my professional ego from shriveling like a half-eaten apple on the orchard floor. In other words I've been too busy to be as reflective as I'd like—and as is in my nature to be. Too busy to more deeply get to know new people. Too busy to realize that as of this month, I've lived upstate for six years.

Revelations like that are the stuff that force a person to decide that not a decade will go by before she wakes up to realize where she's placed her roots. And so I've decided to keep this little blog for a while to ground myself in the now.

The impetus for this decision came suddenly last week. My oldest friend from downstate, the one I grew up with in my childhood neighborhood and have known since I was a year old, is getting married, and I've been invited south to attend a wedding I cannot miss.

In planning for the big trip home to see many beloved people from my past, I first felt great joy that my oldest friend found someone to love and one who will, in turn, love her forever. I also felt a rush of pride in the honor of being invited to share in her special day, especially after having limited contact with her over the last six years. And then, as they tend to do for me, Woody Allen, and a few other downstate New Yorkers I know, anxieties promptly followed suit. First, what will everyone think when they see that I've gained twenty plus pounds in the last six years? Second, what on earth is a person who's gained twenty plus pounds and also seemingly, beyond reason, shrunken an inch or two in the last half decade—going to wear to said wedding? Third, when people see me and ask in their downstate NY accents (as they always do), "Yo, whadda hell did ya move all da way up there foa?" will I have a few succinct and honest sentences prepared as I make my rounds among all those familiar, quirky, beloved faces I've missed so much?  

So I suppose this blog is going to be a little study of myself at thirty six years of age, and a study of my new (or at least newly recognized) home.

And finally, I suspect it will be some long-deserved recognition for this beautiful space in upstate New York and this fabulous place I now call home.