Home

I've been trying for awhile now to sum up my feelings on my new "home," this new place I live. I've never sat down and actually written something out, which would probably make the most sense. Instead, I just think about it. A lot. The truth is, I'm still figuring it out.

Some days I actually quite like Tennessee. Other days, I don't dislike it, per se, I just like it less. Knoxville isn't a large city. In fact, it's quite small. Some days it feels too small. The other day I was listening to Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York" and the phrase "My little town blues are melting away" hit me and I let out a big sigh when I realized that maybe I had the "little town blues" and that part of the "like it less" days are a direct result of missing the bigger city life (which I know I haven't lived in awhile, but has never quite left my system). Sure, there is something charming about lesser populated areas, but I found myself missing the hustle and bustle of city life: taxi cabs honking at each other, the sounds of the horns reverberating from buildings; watching people get off the subway and make their way to work in their suits and fancy shoes, etc. That's not Knoxville. Not at all. (Although I have noticed that there is a large group of women here who dress up super fancy just to go to the grocery store. I think those are the same women who just came from a day of tennis at the local country club, which there seem to be plenty of. Now that's Knoxville. There are definitely the stereotypical country folk here, but there is also major money and I can't figure out where it comes from and how people have so much of it, but that's another story. . . )

But in the end, it's more than just big city life that I've been thinking about in trying to decipher my feelings. I'm not good at being "the new person" no matter what city I'm in. The feeling of being new and out of place doesn't sit well with me. I get stir crazy living in a new place. So every day I try and make an effort to get out of the house. Probably more for my sake than JB's. So in between morning and afternoon naps, my little boy and I go somewhere. Anywhere just to get out. And after an hour or two, when it's nap time again, I always say, "Okay, James, it's time to go home." And without fail, every time I say those words I feel a twinge of sadness and uncertainty. Home. Let's go home. Are we home? Is that what this is? Home? And that's been the hardest part for me. I think I feel the furthest from home I've ever been. A million miles away. So it only makes it harder when your sister and dearest friend come for a visit. A visit that is so refreshing and just what you needed (to be with people who truly know and get you, that connection usually missing by being in a new place). And, of course, as all good visits go, it goes by way too quickly. And so even though it feels like they just got here, the time comes to drop them off at the airport and say goodbye. And as you drive away and say the words "Okay, James, let's go home," you realize, looking through the rearview mirror, that "home" is standing on the curb waving goodbye to you. And then on the rest of the drive back to your house you cry because you are a baby and that's what babies do.