I spent the past couple of days in my fair city of New York. Since I moved, I have found wonderful excuses to visit friends in the city. Most of these visits have been kinda strange, mostly because I'm used to having somewhere to go... and now, I'm aimless. And without too much theological wandering, I don't do well with being aimless. But, I do miss the sense that New York is home. It happened while I was waiting for the bus on Broadway sometime on Friday. I realized that this is no longer my city. It is changing without me. It is being wonderful without me.
And while I don't really miss it, it stung. It was like going home and finding that everyone else grew up. Of course, it's silly because you too have grown up. You have done wonderful things and seen amazing places and met more wonderful people. But, everything looks smaller when you go back. When you go home again, it doesn't look like you remember. It just doesn't look nearly as grand. It's just not the same and there's a silly kind of sadness that comes with that. It's silly because I don't really miss it. I just want it to still be mine, like a child who sees another child enjoying her old toy. Suddenly, I want it back.
But, I'm venturing to new places and going to do new things. I'm filled with anticipation and excitement. But, there is still that small part of me that wonders what I shall be leaving behind in New York. The friends that I have made. The memories that will linger. The arts that explode across the streets and in museums. The friends that know my whole story. The friends that know what I will say before I can think it. The endless possibility. But, really, I can take all of these things with me even though that silly part within me will miss them all so very much.