Goodness me I’m rambly today. Blame it on the insane amount of alcohol I have ingested in the past three days.
Anyway, when I was on the plane home, after that wonderful quintessentially New York night (yes, that city), I resolved that I clearly could not get over that city and must therefore try and channel my life towards living there again, perhaps more permanently. I even began to consider the MBA! I have never felt belonging like I do when I’m there. And it’s hard to feel like you have no place in your own country.
However, today, as I chatted and ambled my way through my day—full of books and conversation about books, and ranting about translators and commas and the strange new girl—and sat at my desk and peacefully worked my way through 200 pages of proofs, a sense of contentment stole over me. I didn’t even realize it had arrived until, during an oft-repeated discussion with Karaoke Boy where he yells at me for moving and demands that I return since anyway it’s not like I’m making money, I said to him, why would I come back, I’m happy here!
It turns out that I am quite happy in my peaceful ambling job, with restful literary types scattered everywhere, who have long and articulate conversations about anything at all, and expect me to take breaks to read any book I like, and give me the space to execute my clearly defined work at whatever speed and in whatever way I choose, as long as it is executed to their requirements.
It turns out that I have a home here, one that is familiar and welcome; that I missed my armchair, and even though we need to find a maid AGAIN it’s delightful to be running my own house again; that I sleep with a smile on my face in my own bed.
Now that is a welcome home present, especially after recent drama.