I finally read E.B. White’s famous essay on New York over my Christmas break. It did not have any groundbreaking ideas or realizations, but it was beautiful and poignant, and the perfect reading material to accompany me as a travelled around New York on the subway visiting friends and family. Such a bittersweet vacation this was. I don’t have any year end posts or retrospective entries about the passing decade. I don’t have any Christmas posts or pictures. I didn’t make any New Years resolutions. The time I’ve spent here (2 weeks exactly) had a heaviness to it that I can’t quite explain. It was an emotional time, more emotional than I anticipated. I sometimes feel guilty for leaving everything and going alway to school, so I try to downplay the difficult stuff and make it seem like it is not a big deal. But after awhile I am forced to see the entire truth: yes, it is a big deal and it is difficult. I cannot expect everything and everyone to be exactly the same as when I left.
Regardless, here is New York. Here is home.
The Book Mill 