For me, coming home is always bittersweet.
Whether I am away for a weekend or a few months, my travel creates a new picture portfolio so that when I return, my physical home feels different.
I came home on Tuesday to the familiar and busy streets of Dupont Circle and to the quiet coffee shop on the corner where they pipe in classical music and where I sit for hours undisturbed.
I came home to watch my next door neighbors and their adorable two-year-old daughter pack up all their belongings for an assignment in Tokyo. The cardboard boxes clogged up the hallway and my heart. Their proximity gave me comfort and morning friendship. I will miss their daily presence.
Paul, the all-weather postman, is retiring his letter bag after 45 years. He was my postman.
He knew who I was when he neatly and joyfully placed my magazines and bills into my small rectangular mailbox in the lobby. Who will serve me as well as he did?
Tomorrow they will put in new windows in my apartment so we can be more protected from the wind and the rains and even an intermittent hurricane.
Will I see better from the inside? Will my vision of home gain more clarity?
What will change? What will be different? What will remain the same?
How will I manage all these losses and transitions?
Bittersweetly.
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