My plane touched down last night to a calm and quiet California coastline.
I love the drive from the airport back home in the still of the night.
Even on the highway you can hear the waves of the bay lapping up against the rocks.
Paradoxically, the ride from Manhattan out to the airport leaves me feeling very blue.
I usually spend this trip staring silently out the window,
watching the city on my right shrink smaller and smaller against the skyline.
It’s like saying goodbye to someone you love, with no set plans to reunite- the worst kind of heartache.
Last night, it felt tremendous to turn the key, push open the door, and walk back into my apartment.
By the week’s end in New York, I was ready to come home.
(West Coast home Dad, if you’re reading this.)
I slept the entire flight- and actually most of the cab ride to JFK-both very rare occurrences for me.
I guess after a week back east there was no more party in me, and I succumbed to a still and quiet slumber.
In books and in movies people often struggle with the notion of loving two people at once.
But sometimes...sometimes I ask myself,
‘Is it possible? Is it possible to love two places at once?’
‘Does one’s heart have the capacity? The depth and the space to accommodate such devotion?’
Whenever I leave New York I feel a pit in my belly, like I swallowed a stone.
I feel like stammering out of the cab window,
‘It’s not you, New York! You did nothing, nothing wrong.
It’s me! I’m all mixed up inside. Please, please don’t forget me.’
And steady as she is, New York opens her arms and embraces me-- each and every return trip I make.
Just a fond and understanding hug.
I am grateful for the patience and affection.
But sometimes it fuels my guilt for leaving.
While New York is like the old love that will always take me back;
San Francisco seems to be the city I just can’t seem to shake.
Bennett croons he left his heart here, and I think mine is very much understanding the appeal.
Life out West is a perpetual Never Never Land.
It’s a cool older brother and ‘the one’ you hope never gets away.
It’s James Franco and a dream.
San Francisco and me?
We’re having a grand old time, coasting along and hand plucking adventures,
just as one chooses oysters a la carte.
The things I’ve accomplished in my life that I am most proud of?
Well, those have happened here, mostly.
That’s quite a mighty confession, I know.
I’ve done a lot of growing up. Conquered a lot of fears.
Plus, it smells really, really good here.
Like juniper and eucalyptus and honeysuckle all the time.
So I don’t know.
I’m either a really good candidate, or not cracked up at all, for love affairs.
Because this here and there mumbo jumbo can take quite a toll on this crimson heart of mine.
Maybe one day, on one coast, the romance will fizzle,
but until then…
A life in love and limbo is what I lead.