The Best of Both Worlds

There is something in us that can't help but yearn for the familiar. I'm a happy woman--lucky in pet, lodging, and career--and most of all in love. Despite all of that, however, there are times that I just plain yearn for the home of my youth, with its open plains and empty streets, its unique cuisines and good souls. Every time I go back to North Dakota its tough to return to Boston. Both, however, make me appreciate the other.

I love that I was able to go for a Saturday morning run with my beloved, down empty streets. The roads were so empty that we were able to run on the ramp connecting to the interstate for more than a quarter mile. I loved that we were the only runners out, that we were such a novel site we earned no less than three nods--a honk, a whistle, and a yell of encouragement from a cheery construction worker.

But I love that in Boston I can run the full year round, even if clad in tights. (The -20+ January of ND prevents running even as a consideration.) I love that there are nearly always other runners out there--that the few of us still outside in the winter can salute another stalwart soul with a nod or a frosty-fingered wave. I love that I've come to recognize faces at road races, and that I will always meet someone new in the miles of a long race. I love the sheer number of race options--and let's face it, I love the schwag. (Where else can you get a medal for a Jingle Bell 5K?)

Jared once mentioned the term "dichotomous self" to me--meaning that there are always different pieces within one, I guess. Maybe it is the same with our concept of "home"--the place where I grew up, have countless youthful memories, and where my family is will always be my home--and yet it isn't, not quite. Home is a warm, cozy apartment with a too-large dog slobbering her excess drinking water on the leg of my jeans, where there is always a tree-lined hilly path to run, where I met my beloved...and yet it isn't home, quite.

It is hard for me to go back to the home of my youth, and harder still to leave. Though I know my life is undoubtedly here in New England, there are days, weeks, where the pangs of being so far from family become a tangible, painful thing. Unfortunately there is no easy fix--no clear solution to have my cake and eat it, too. I do the best I can, as we all do when loved ones are far away--and split my time as work, life, and finances allow. I play Scrabble in North Dakota, and have game nights with coworkers in Boston. I have steaks from the grill with my parents there, and fresh salmon here.

And I know, deep down, that I can count myself as lucky for being blessed with two homes--the home of my youth and of my past, with its golden fields, marathon Scrabble games, family slapping the table during card games, and homemade Tom&Jerry's at the holidays, and the home of my present and future, with Jared to cuddle on the couch and to laugh with, trails made for running, a dog to walk, and a wedding to plan.... and again, homemade Tom&Jerry's. (One shouldn't forget one's roots after all.)