I’ve noticed something funny the last few times we have gone up to New York; the act of visiting a place you once called home (even one you were born and raised in) can still make you feel like a tourist. In anticipation of our travels I make all sorts of lists in my head about what I plan on doing. I want to stroll through Central Park, frequent our favorite burrito joint, and come home with goodies that I am sure only exist in New York City. It’s a strange sensation to desperately want to soak up somewhere so familiar; on the one hand I love how deeply I have come to appreciate the uniqueness of a place I once took (somewhat) for granted, but on the other hand it’s odd to feel detached from a place I still consider home in many ways. Despite these complicated feelings, I am chomping at the bit for our weekend visit. I have come up with a lengthy list of things I would like to do, but in the end I know I’ll be just as satisfied walking around our favorite side streets, and spending time with family and friends.
No comments:
Post a Comment