It's been about six weeks that I've been living in the city. Yes, six; that much, and that little. I was asked the other day if I'd always known that I wanted to move here, and as you know, I didn't. But as you also know, it's been even better than I would have expected it to be.
Living in any city is always different than commuting to and from it, traveling through it, or visiting for a weekend. One of the reason I loved studying abroad so much is because it allowed me to live abroad. Over time, as Santiago and Strasbourg became more and more familiar, they also became my home. I discovered my favorite coffee shops, restaurants, markets, and bars. I knew the parks well and used public transportation with ease. I acquired a routine. I felt comfortable. And as soon as I did, I knew it was time for me to get away.
I don't mean to say that I felt the need to escape... just that I needed to go elsewhere, experience someplace new, if nothing else because I then had somewhere to come back to.
I think I may have reached that point with New York. That is why I wanted to plan my September trip to Iceland (it's still very much in the works). That is why I'm taking an out-of-state overnight when K comes to visit in three weeks. That is why I'm going to Philadelphia for the Healthy Living Summit. That is why I'm hoping to take trips to Boston and elsewhere at some point this summer.
Traveling makes appreciating home, each one of them, that much more special.