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.
No judgments.
No questions.
Just a fond and understanding hug.
I am grateful for the
patience and affection.
But sometimes it
fuels my guilt for leaving.
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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.
xo
