I was offered the chance to go back to Indiana (where my parents live and where I moved here from) for the holiday. It was originally the plan, but upon further review, I realized a trip "home" would be less like a vacation and more like a puppet show cum trip to the Old Country Buffet (aka Hungry Heffer).
No offense to my hoosier readers, but honestly - I also wanted to avoid the questions about my new and fabulous life (?!), New York, crime, Broadway, clubs, boys, sex, and bla bla bla. I wanted to avoid the people who have not, and will not ever change. I wanted to avoid the people who hurt me and whom I hurt when I lived there, and especially those who still jump at the opportunity to twist a dagger in my aorta.
I guess I'm still healing. So this loneliness is worth it. I'm in it.
Some background - I was born at Ohio State University Hospital at 8:20 a.m. on June 5, 1980. We lived in Columbus until I was five.
Then we moved to a suburb of Milwaukee called Waukesha. We lived there until I finished second grade.
Then we moved to a small village even further out of Milwaukee, WI, closer to Madison, called Wales. This is where I would consider my "upbringing" to have taken place. We lived there until I was almost fifteen. And when I'm drunk or tired, the accent is still there to prove it.
Then we moved to a suburb of Denver called Westminster. I had forensic meets at Columbine, I learned of raves and dance music, travelled to Europe, and began falling in love with boys I could never have.
Travelled to Munich, did the prep school thing for a few months, figured out the world was a big AND a small place.
My senior year of high school we moved to Indianapolis. Carmel to be exact. Culture shock, to say the least. Kicked some redhead's ass for calling me a flamer on the first day of school. After that, nobody fucked with me, and I didn't really care to make friends there (I wonder why). The cool kids all went to Broadripple and North Central anyways - if anything, cool by osmosis since that's where all the black kids went.
I graduated and fled to Chicago. Boystown woohoo.
After a semester at Columbia I transferred to University of Wisconsin and moved back to Cheese Country to be with a boy I loved very much at the time, and still hold dearly as a friend.
After two years of this life - smoking pot, required college courses, figuring out what a relationship is and how to love and be loved, laughing on kitchen floors, music, clubbing, and obsessing about cats and vintage couture... I moved back in with my parents who still lived in Indianapolis and continued my studies at Indiana University Purdue University Indianapolis (IUPUI).
Met a new boy. Fell madly in love. The crazy kind of love that only happens... well who knows how often it happens... but I don't expect often.
Graduated in 2003.
Went to Europe for a few months. Travelled extensively. Trains, busses, cars, feet. Stayed on floors, apartments, hostels, hotels, on beaches, and on benches.
Cheated on that boy on a drunken night with a friend (don't ask me why - he had a boyfriend too!), and of course it wasn't until afterwards that I knew what a good thing I had. Isn't it weird how things work out like that? Never thought I'd cheat on someone. Never thought I could do that to a person. But the most valuable lessons are often the most painful, eh?
Came home defeated and changed by my experiences lovely and celestial, moved out of the 'rents' place, the boy wanted to move in with me and a friend, so I thought I still had a chance to make things right. Got in fights with friends and enemies. Burned bridges. Broke ribs. Made coffee for yuppies. Made pizza for hipsters and yuppies. Drank a lot. Made new friends. Got deservedly dumped (fast process) and then spitefully slighted (10 month root canal/gastric bypass), but figured it all karmic, you know?
Dreams and voices and fantasies lead me to skyscrapers and spirals. Trains and cabs. Parties and tears.
Almost a year later I'm living in New York. I'm thinking about home and what it means to have this place. I have never felt like I had a home. The only home I think I'll ever truly know is the one I've created for myself in my own heart and mind. For the most part, I am comfortable with myself and my surroundings. I have always felt attached to everyone and everything without feeling truly connected to anything.I think my lack of home and my tendency toward nomadic existence is a large part of why I am a writer and my writing itself. There's almost always this uncomfortable intimacy in my words, but teamed with a cold removedness. I have always been a world unto myself with two distinct poles and everything in between AS significant, just maybe not in the immediate spotlight. Surrounding me is an awkward foreign quality that is complex and beautiful, but frustratingly impossible to pinpoint.
I find the people I unnerve the most are the ones who need to pigeonhole themselves and those around them.
I used to long for a home. I used to get so upset when people would ask me where I'm from, because I really don't have a good answer. Lying is too easy, and though it satisfies an unaware listener, it leaves me feeling cheap and immature.
Now I think I am okay with being homeless. My voice and my SELF are the only homes I know. Unlike many of my friends, I never feel this regret about not being myself that I hear so much about. I never try to hide where I'm coming from, where I'm going, or where I am at RIGHT NOW. I not only understand people better, but feel I can relate to an almost infinite amount of experiences humans are capable of on this (or any other) planet.
A small part of me is waiting for my new home. I don't expect it to land on me. I know like everything, that it is a participatory thing. I must co-create it. I am not ruling out the idea of crafting a home by myself or with someone special. But I don't think it necessary any more. I also know now that New York is my home more than any other place I've ever lived has been. At times it feels like a city of the lost. The restless and homeless. The thrill-seekers. The opportunity-seekers. The hungry.
I am at home. I guess I have that to feel thankful for.
Currently listening : In the Aeroplane Over the Sea By Neutral Milk Hotel Release date: 10 February, 1998
No comments:
Post a Comment