I’m Coming Home (New York)
It’s an odd sensation. An elation, really. The wife and I have done a lot of traveling in the 3 and 1/2 years of our marriage. We’ve been to Europe twice, the Caribbean quadrice (not a real word, but I like it) and cities near and far within the US. We just returned from New Orleans last night. No matter how far or exotic the location, no matter how much fun the destination, no matter how much I swear I would move there in a heartbeat (especially to Barcelona), there is just something indefinable in the experience of returning to New York.
The spattering of lights that grow denser and denser as you approach. Seeing the city from afar (and once from directly overhead at a low altitude coming into LGA, which is a breathtaking sight). Then you arrive at the airport and enter the terminal, and for the first time in a long time you’re able to discern that New York accent that your ears had long since grown accustomed to and ignored, and which you’ll again learn to ignore within days.
And finally, you’re home. The only home you’ve ever known. New York.
