I’ve lived in New York City for more than four months now, despite the fact that it feels like it has only been four weeks. Clock hands seem to turn faster in the city, blending my days and their accompanying memories into one another. The happy days are full of green walks through Central Park, three-hour dining experiences at boutique Italian restaurants, Breaking Bad marathons with my roommate on our living room couch. The dreary days, on the other hand, are clouded with the wintry gray sky, cold gusts down the city block wind tunnels, tourists constantly obstructing the sidewalk between the subway and home.
Throughout the last few weeks, due to final story deadlines and a hectic work schedule, my memories of the city filled with the latter visuals. I craved the open green space, the smiling face of my family’s dog, the southern drawls of my North Carolina neighbors. It is an understatement to say that I could not wait to return home for two weeks for the Christmas holiday.
I have been home for five days now, and it is amazing to be back. The natural, slower pace of life helps my body recover from my new city lifestyle. Daily 2-mile walks with the pup, trips to the local gym for a treadmill run or spin class, and signing on as one of Santa’s elves keep me occupied but relaxed in this quiet suburban town. While this slice of life has become more of a vacation than a reality for me, I always know where I call home.