We’re back. We’re finally back. The driving trips give us a lot of flexibility, but they kind of ruin me. Maybe him, too, though he seems not terribly worse for wear.
The traffic in Connecticut actually made me cry real tears. Just a little, but still. There was a moment — after an hour of going no faster than 16mph on 95, and then finally pulling onto the Merritt Parkway to a dead standstill/stop and go for another half an hour where I thought, I cannot do this. I can’t. When he woke up from his nap, I tried to reason with him: “It’s at least four more hours. We’ve been driving for three already. If the traffic doesn’t let up, it will be longer.” I wanted him to agree to stop at a hotel, but he really didn’t want to and since I was on the fence about it anyway, we pushed on. Luckily for both of us, we started moving again and didn’t hit anything worse than that for the rest of the trip.
It’s a straightforward drive, but one that always sideswipes me with mixed emotions. I’m always looking forward to getting home. To seeing m*. To sleeping in my own bed. To having everything just where I want it. But passing through each successive state (Welcome to Rhode Island! Connecticut Welcomes You! Entering New York! New Jersey: The Garden State!) from there to here is a reminder of how far I actually am from home. It has gotten easier; it totally has. Going back and forth does not throw me nearly the way it used to. And I have friends here that I am delighted to return to. But, man. I just love Boston. Even when I have lived here as long as I have lived there (I’ve still got another 20 years to go for that) I don’t think it will ever be the same. I just have to keep reminding myself that that isn’t my goal: sameness. I’m not trying to recreate home; I’m just trying to make another one.