“I never get a break. I never get time off to just relax!” is something I probably text my mother far too often. She always calmly replies, “Well you never stick around anywhere long enough to get vacation time!”
I have moved around a lot in the past few years, and because of it, I really don’t ever “earn” the time away from work. I finally got to go back home to Kentucky/Cincinnati last weekend and it was all I could have hoped for with the short time allotted. I spent time with my mom, saw at least 5 good friends, ate too much, shopped too much (H&M, HOW DARE YOU BE SO MUCH CHEAPER IN KENTUCKY?!), went to the zoo with my sister who’s pregnant and my darling nephew Mason, picked up tons of winter clothes for the freezing weather to come, and sat by a fire and talked about just about everything.
(but really, I don’t have any pets, why are there dogs in my yard?)
What never ceases to surprise me is the effortless continuity of going home. I always expect that it’ll be hard to adjust, but it never is. A really easy “throw-away” question to ask someone is what success looks like for them. Well right now, I’d feel very successful if I could make enough money by doing what I love — to visit home more often.
I drank bourbon tonight and it made me miss Kentucky.
I like the city, but it’s still not home. It’s an extended vacation in a too small room with strange bartender roommates.
It’s a job with a weird old woman that reminds me of the entire plot from “Sunset Boulevard” and too much pay for such a silly job.
It’s a lot of hope, but nothing to back it up yet.
I like New York, but I want to feel like I belong, and I’m not sure I do yet.