"Home"

Today I finally admitted defeat.  I live in Boston.  I'm no longer a Chicagoan.  I miss the Weiner Circle at 2:00 AM, being two blocks from the beach, and even the cubs fans throwing up on my sidewalk.  So here I am, admitting that I live here, and for the time being here I will stay.

I finally spent some time moving into my apartment.  I unpacked the final Ikea packages I'd been pretending not to see.  I put my mattress on a bed frame.  I hung all my postcards on the wall so I'd be reminded of the trips I'd taken.  I found a church and started actually going.  I joined a yoga studio.  Time to establish a connection to the city of Boston other than my classroom and local pub bubble.

I remember in college when my boyfriend at the time (the one who lives in Florida now) told me he was moving to London for graduate school.  I freaked out, and he seemed so calm.  I remember us talking about what would happen when we were in different countries.  I was 21, and I was planning on graduating and following him across the Atlantic Ocean.  I had barely been out of the country myself at the time ... and I thought this was a completely logical next step for us.  I remember defining "home" as laying your roots in another person, and home could be wherever you were together.  He always woke me up by saying, "Goodmorning Beautiful," and although I didn't, I felt like I could find "home" somewhere other than the structure I grew up in.  We're not together anymore, and my home definitely isn't him, but I like the concept of not feeling tied down to a brick structure as a "home."  I can feel at home wherever I have my running shoes, my friends, and the road to myself.  I can always rely on my running shoes.

356 Miles Down 11 Miles to Go