The first few days of Fall having just arrived in/moved back to Massachusetts is a very specific set of feelings. I know this. I’ve experienced them on a number of occasions at this point. There’s a feeling of elation at having just gotten the first load of groceries in to the house from Market Basket and that “Hey! I’m here again!” elation mixed with the feeling of “What the fuck did I just do!?” and the body still being sore from transit and hauling heavy suitcases across the Atlantic. I know that over the next few weeks my body and mind are going to go through all weirdness, and to not take anything too seriously except the need to get good sleep and eat well. Also, drink a lot of hot tea – that seems to help.
This light, these particular trees, this level of humidity: my body and mind still have the instructions stored within on how to make sense of it. How to “do” these feelings. It’s knowledge I was happy enough to leave in the past when I left here last year. It wasn’t from any sense of anger, more from a place of “Well sure, I’ve done that, no need to go back. There’s a life to be having elsewhere”
For the longest while, I didn’t think I was ever coming back as more than a visitor. As I was preparing to leave London, Emma my housemate sang back to me – with some glee, I might add – my own lyrics stating categorically that I wasn’t coming back here. I’m here, I’m present, but I’m not back. This isn’t a “going back” mission. Not for a second.