When You Go...

This morning I'm on the road again. Winding through the tunnel made rhythmic by the divots in the pavement, now spit out on the Jersey side. New York has welcomed me, talked fast and enticed me to jump back into her double dutch game three times since I've been back from South America. Each time I have found myself here. Leaving, and more and more aware that NYC is not where I am supposed to be right now.

The question is where am I supposed to be? For now it's DC, a city that holds both my origins and so many unknowns. I was born there, but didn't stay. My family is there now so that's where I'll be, too. In many ways it feels like a rebirth, a reinvention of self. New neighborhoods to explore, new communities to form. Perhaps even a new career as I suspect politics, international relations and lobbying trump creative advertising. Again, a return to the root. I majored in Political Science.

When I gave up my apartment and loosened many ties here back in October, I was prepared to let NYC go. I have been surprised to find myself back here so soon and have questioned whether enough time has passed. I don't think so and, unfortunately yet thankfully, the retracting economy has confirmed it. I'm still on that adventure I began last year. And, though I didn't imagine it would bring me back to this continent, that I would be navegating my way in this language, I am game. I believe that it'll lead me to exactly where I am supposed to be, and that the reward will be great.

My last week in New York has been sweet, a tender time of intimate conversations with old friends, aimless city walks, birthday toasts, teary-eyed hellos and goodbyes, lots and lots of love. Yesterday I ducked into the IFC Theatre for a showing of the Oscar-nominated Best Live Shorts. The last one stuck in my mind, and in my vocal chords. It's called Manon Sur le Bitume (Manon on the Asphalt). Madeleine Peyroux's soulful and bright rendition of "You're Going to Make Me Lonesome When You Go" plays throughout. What struck me is the way this song, along with the color and sound treatment and the intimate flashbacks and peeps into this woman's life, sweetened what should be a sad good-bye. My good-bye is far from a death, thank goodness. But, in certain respects, I feel the same melancholy for times past, gratefulness for having lived them and acceptance of what is now. Sadness and gratefulness and acceptance in one. Passing smoke stacks on 95, humming this song.



See the short if you can.