One life from another? One path, one career, one place to call home?

I’ve never been one for metaphors. I’m sort of a you-get-what-you-see kind of a gal. I’m all easy-to-understand colloquialisms. Direct. Simple, even. Literal. I lack mystery, I lack intrigue. I don’t write poetically, I don’t even know how to. I end sentences with prepositions. And start them with conjunctions. I’m not eloquent and that’s okay.

Moving back to my hometown is so bittersweet. On the one hand, it’s exactly what I want and I can’t imagine a better life than the one I can lead there. On the other hand, leaving New York somehow feels like some intense failure. Leaving New York without having accomplished…I don’t even know–some level of success, fame, fortune, something!

I have not lived in my hometown as an adult. Ever. So, realistically I have no idea what to expect. It’s possible that we will be earth-shatteringly, ridiculously, unbelievably happy there (I hope!). But, it’s just as possible that we will get there and be like, wait what? What the fuck is this?

You weigh these giant things (housing, transportation, family, education) and make pros and cons lists and try to imagine where you and your family will be happy and inspired. And, then you just jump. You stop thinking about the lists, you stop concerning yourself with all the things you’ll leave behind and focus, instead, on all the things you have to look forward to.

Then, in a state of total confusion and anxiety, you remind yourself that it is not wise to focus solely on what will be better or else you doom yourself to disappointment and depression. For, it is true that you will be overjoyed by the ease of grocery shopping. But, you will be equally dismayed by the non-co-op prices that will keep you from ever buying spices or fancy cheeses again.

And, so. Life. Life at its very best and its very worst. Present becomes past and future becomes present. And, past becomes present in my case. If you get what I mean. Oh, it’s all so confusing and a jumble of emotions. And soooo muCH STRESS! Just gobs and gobs of it. No matter how much you plan ahead. No matter how far in advance you begin the process of packing up your life and purging your past. No matter how many outings you make in preparation for the big goodbye. No matter how many farewells you amass. It will never be enough and it will always feel like too much.

And, so. You can’t win. Or, if you look at it in a different light: you can’t lose. If it will never be enough, stop trying to make it so. And, then magically, the stress sort of falls away. We will be back in New York–this is not the last time we will be in this city. And, in fact, coming back as a tourist allows much more room to do all of the things you want to do when you are stressed out and working too hard and overburdened by a crazy life. Tourists have all the time in the world. Nowhere to go and everyone to see. So, tea at The Plaza a la Eloise will have to wait. The famous Brooklyn Pizza off the J street Q train can happen next year. Whatever. It’s fine.

For now, it’s all about getting out and enjoying the process (as much as is humanly possible). And, let’s not kill each other in the process, husband. Okay? Because wow, people aren’t kidding when they say moving is tough on a marriage. All those big decisions and two people–each with their own attachments and ways of dealing with stress, each with their own expectations and ways of communicating. And, wow. It’s not easy. It is, in fact, quite difficult.