If There Was Fight In These Bones

I’m back.

I mean, I know you know I’m back in New York City. What I mean is that I’m back. It took a minute, but I’ve got a groove. I’m walking fast, talking fast, and generally moving at a blur-inducing rate. Is this a good thing? Probably not. But it beats feeling stranded at 33,000 feet somewhere over Ohio, or getting squashed like a bug on these mean streets.

I made the mistake of telling my grandmother that my time in Iowa provoked some romantic thoughts of returning for good. What I failed to add was “someday.” The last thing she said to me as I tucked myself into my Pontiac Sunbird was, “So when are you moving back?”

New York City has warped my perception. It’s all bright lights and loud noises. It’s a great buzz. But it becomes difficult to imagine any other reality. No Central Park? No Natural History? No Wollman Rink? No Soho? How would I survive? What would I do?

My mother asked me a few months ago, “Do you think you’ll stay in New York City forever?” And I said that I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

Until last week.

Des Moines was plenty hip. There was cool stuff going on in Omaha. Kansas City was… well, ok, maybe not Kansas City.

More importantly, spending time with Jason, his lovely wife Stephanie and their adorable son Mitchell drove home the fact that there’s way more than bright lights, loud noise, and a good buzz. There’s being a good friend, a good son, a good husband, a good father. Those things are much more important to me now.

As Pippin says in my all-time favorite piece of musical theater, “I don’t know what I’m gonna’ do, or where I’m gonna’ go…”

But I bet it looks a lot like there. Plus a little bit of here for good measure.

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