Maybe Home is a Thought, Not a Place

Saturday is the day; flying back to the city whether I'm ready or not.  So much has changed since I left New York.  While I probably would have liked to have been back in the city a little sooner, these weeks home have provided much needed time for reflection.  I think, for me at least, I can't be sure where I'm going until I know where I have been.  And you can't know where you have been until you turn around a look back for a minute.

The idea of "home" has been something I've thought about so much over the last few weeks, months even.  For a majority of my life I lived at the same tri-level going to the same schools.  Home was all I knew.  Now, I have many homes.  My first new "home" was West Lafayette, Indiana.  My second was Florence.  Third, (and yes I count it because it was such a moving experience -- no pun intended) Paris.  Fourth, New York City.  Each home has it own scents, habits, memories, friends, and every home I have made on my own.  Building nests of comfort in these cities which I never considered the impact of abandoning each.  Unable to tend for these nests while building a new one.  How can we abandon these homes? These works of art?

There is a song I first heard so many years ago, I believe shortly after I first moved away from home. The one line which caught my attention was the single line which I could empathize with. 

"Maybe home is a thought, not a place; you can move and still be safe."

The idea that my home was a strictly an artistic representation of all feelings which comfort me, comforted me further in a time of misunderstanding. That was all I understood when I first heard this song.  I attached this phrase to my memory like a deer tick and ran it through my mind whenever I felt anxious.

But now, since my home has expanded to so many more faces and rooms and cities, I found that this entire song is my anthem.

"I wanna steal from you only you, make room for you."  I take what I want from these physical homes, to create a room of my own.  As a world traveler, I desire these new boundaries, the expansions. 

"I am the thief who leaves it behind: the moon and the window."  But as a traveler, I can leave it behind as well.  The moon -- the intangibles such as the scents and the memories.  The window -- the tangibles such as the actual physical bedrooms I stayed in, the addresses which once belonged to me.  I'm the thief who leaves it all behind.

I could go on, but I think you get the point.  I'm heading back to NYC to continue mass robberies. 

Here's the full song: "Souvenir" by The Duke Spirit YOUTUBE LINK

FLORENCE

PARIS

NEW YORK CITY

Paris

My visit to Paris was so quiet, but so full of life.  I spent 9 nights in the city, completely and utterly alone.  I don't think I would have done anything differently.

I spoke mainly in French while I was there, trying as best as I could to remember the correct vocabulary and tenses.  I wanted to fit in among the crowds of Parisians as easily as I was mushed into them on the Metro.  Could they smell my foreign tongue?  I stayed very quiet for the first few days.  Observing every turn and holler, every breath and step, every tune and argument. 

It seemed to me, that these people kept to themselves more than any sort I had ever seen before.  As if it were discomforting to be urged to make contact with an unknown.  Everyone was on their own mission.  So focused.  I wouldn't necessarily call it unfriendly.  I never found the people I met and encountered there unfriendly.  It was like their minds were racing on their own discoveries.  Deep in thought, tout le temps.  This was of course, from an outsider's opinion.  I'm sure my perspective would change if I had stayed longer.  And yes there were exceptions, but from a whole, this is the impression I was left with.

The organization of the city had me in awe with every Metro stop.  Every building, every park. every palace felt placed with purpose.  The entire city appealed to me as the floorplan of an art museum.  This is where you want to sit to observe this view.  Climbing a few hundred steps here would make a great look-out over the city.  Of course you would want to walk along the river buying old books from these fold out cupboards.  Unlike any city I had ever been to, this city above all felt like it was designed for those who wish to enjoy life, leisurely, yet focused. 

The beauty of it is unrivaled.  Khaki and pastel-colored and sparkling by night.  Accordion players thumbing the keys to old songs.  The click-clack of the well-to-do in their fancy shoes.  The echos of prayers in the cathedrals.  The scratch of pencils on sketchbooks in the museums.

The air felt so fresh to the lungs.  If you could bottle the feeling of walking the streets of Paris...