Returning

Becan, Yucatan Mexico, Anna Peach 2012

I speak about the trials of returning as often as I speak of the emotional pull of  leaving.  I seem to be forever in the grip of one of these two distinct poles.  We often say that to return is to go back to the comforts of what we know, but with all of the changes that we undergo while away, I find myself returning as a dramatically changed person that has more than a little trouble trying to fit back into the rushing tides of pedestrians.  With that, I view my environs with new perspectives, and often a great deal of confusion as I try to smush myself into the way things were.  As is the case with my return to New York City.  I was barely circling above Laguardia airport before the city pulled at me.  I had undergone a transformation by living very closely to the land in a foreign country for several months, and now the grey sprawl again took over my life.  It was never a very comfortable fit for me in our nation's largest city, but I continue to try regardless.

As I sat in the glare of the mid afternoon sun, I asked myself, "what in the hell am I doing?" while we were all supposed to be seeking out the Freedom Tower off the left of the plane.  And so I  begin the return process.  It sounds bleak, and  unfortunately it certainly was as bad as it sounds.  It opened up the can of worms that we all try to avoid discussing, that being the "why do we make the living choices that we make" question that is often so very hard to answer.  Why do we continue to return to places or people that are not such a great fit?  Why do we go to great lengths to justify the reasons for not living to our fullest potential.  It is a dangerous question to raise in the Big Apple, for most people cling to the city using the same justifications that we use to justify remaining in a failing romantic relationship.  Often the answer is as simple as we have invested far too much time into a situation that we thought would eventually pay off.  It hasn't yet, but yet with our heads still barely above water, it seems more tempting and far easier to stay put in the lackluster situation than to forge ahead into the unknown.  When you break it down to the simple truth that change is scary, it seems nothing short of cowardly to sell ourselves short.

With that being said, I am neck deep in change as I write.  For I couldn't very well write on the subject without at the very least guinea pigging myself to the hilt.  What will come of this?  I am not sure, but the very simple fact that I am writing about it seems to show that I am already in a better place for it.