It's true: this week, we left our home in Brooklyn for the last time and are now on our way across the country, headed to Alaska, our home. The circumstances surrounding the move have been emotional, and the time frame for planning was short, but here we are, on our way at last.
Our first trek after we left the city (after 2 hours of NYC traffic) was to Cleveland, Ohio, my birthplace. Cleveland has not been my physical home for almost a decade, and it was never really home in my heart, but whenever I find myself on its highways and back roads again, I'm always astounded by how well I will always know it. And the things that excite me are not the things I'd ever thought would have stuck: the Cuyahoga Valley towpath, the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo, the back country roads whose speed limits are all somehow faster than they should be, sitting by Lake Erie at the edge of the city.
When I had told Brian about Ohio before this trip, I talked about the shows, the parties, the dancing, but those things all were magical because of the people I did them with, not the place we were in. And magical because of my age at the time; what I remember about Cleveland was that teenage revelry, that feeling everything for the first time. I'm not old, but I'm not fresh and new; I'm not sneaking beer, lying about my age, feeling adulthood like a thrill.
Now, Cleveland seems quieter, like a beloved book I've read so many times that I know all of the words. It's not home but something I take with me, words I say to myself.
NOW: on to Madison, WI!
