I can’t believe how I’ve neglected this blog.
Perhaps my true colors are showing — I go all in then tire of it and retreat.
Or perhaps it’s reflective of how I’ve felt about island living: listless.
Since my last post I’ve left the island twice — I’m actually still off island.
Prior to my first departure — to Canada, I never really came to disliking the island. I just sort of tolerated it. Leaving though, was bad in a lot of ways as I was purged from what was still feeling like a long and weird vacation, back to the real world — the world I left.
I never really considered myself “materialistic” or “consumeristic” (is that a word?) but I was surprised by how much joy I found in buying lattees, good beer, fountain beverages at 711…
Yes, Canada had a LOT to offer and when it came time to leave, I grew a distaste for the island, which was only exacerbated when I returned.
As we were sitting in Atlanta waiting for our flight to St. Maarten I asked Scott just how much he’d hate me if I jumped on a plane to New York instead. Then life was especially cruel and the plane next to ours happened to be going to New York.
I thought that maybe if I acted confident enough they wouldn’t even look at my ticket and I could get on the NY-bound plane.
Somehow I found myself on my way back to the island, knee deep in vodka.
Two weeks and many temper tantrums later, I was back at the airport. Going home to New York.
By then my book had been released and it was doing so well I insisted I deserved the right to go home and celebrate properly with my friends. I also needed to meet with my publisher, go on some kind of press/book tour and frankly, get off the island.
One of the first things I said to my husband after arriving here (in New York) was that I didn’t plan to leave. That I wanted to find a way to make it work so I could stay — and he and the pugs could come back too.
Scott paused and said “but you HATED New York, you were dying to get out of there when we left.” and that’s only half-true.
I hated my situation. and I blamed a lot of it on New York because I had to point the finger at someone. at some thing.
Sure New York and I have had out conflicts, but it wasn’t this city. No — I love this city. I love it too much… and when we’re miserable we often take it out on the people — the things we love the most — and I took it out on New York. I see that now.
I wanted to leave because I thought leaving would change my situation. It didn’t. Moving to an island simply froze me in place.
Perhaps thats the benefit of moving to the island, though. It gave me that backed out, wide view. I see now what I couldn’t see before.
Figuring this out was—pardon the bad example— like watching a black and white movie turn into full-color.
I once again saw this city for what it is — it’s beauty, it’s character, the energy. I really don’t belong anywhere else but here.
It’s not good-bye, but I’ll see you later.
I’m going back to the island, but home will always be New York and my god, I’ll be home soon.
