Home, Coming
Been lacking a little purpose lately. Been feeling like I’ve just been going through the motions. Just trying to be busy by being busy. Clocking in. Clocking out. Maybe it’s because my 39th birthday is coming up in a few weeks. I don’t make a big deal about my birthday anymore. It’s usually right around Thanksgiving. This year it’s right on Thanksgiving. Plus my family’s not big into celebrations. Though starting this year I’ve made it a point to visit my folks in Little Rock on their birthdays. It’s on my mind that soon there won’t be too many opportunities left for us to do that. But right around my birthday time I do find myself getting into a bit of a funk. I can’t remember when it started. It definitely wasn’t my 20s. I was too busy throwing birthday parties for myself then. I think I decided to stop having them on my 30th birthday when I took out my close friends out to dinner. A birthday now just reminds me that time has passed. A year gone. Already. What did I do? What did I get accomplished? How did I change? Did I grow as a person?
Maybe that’s it. The marking of time passed. Lately at the end of the work day I’ll try to think about what I got done. What did I work on today? Especially as the days get darker earlier. Or the weekend comes and I think about what I completed that week. I remember going to watch Sister Souljah speak at Ithaca College when I was in high school. I remember her saying, “If you didn’t get what you needed to get done during the week then you don’t party on the weekend.” That stayed with me. Twenty five years later we follow each other on Twitter. We had some colorful exchanges about Korea when she was there. I have no idea how she found me. I’ve never read any of her books. The other day My Lady Arletis and I were watching old music videos. TLC’s “Red Light Special” came on and as we were laughing at Boris Kodjoe’s feathered boa I said, “I can’t believe that was 20 years ago.” She paused. “That was 20 years ago? No way.” Yes it was. 21 to be exact. Time flies. Does it? Did it for my boy Shane who spent 20 years in federal prison? Probably not. Does it mean for the last 21 years Arletis and I spent our lives living fully and living fast? What does that even mean?
I’ve been thinking about why I haven’t been writing. Visited Ithaca a few weeks ago with Arletis. Met up with my childhood friend Alexis. He encouraged me to write. Talked about how my pieces in the school paper and magazine in high school would shake up the students. How they all went straight to my columns when they came out. I was such an angry kid. Sad too. Because I didn’t fit. Didn’t know where to fit. I’m happy there are more stories coming out about the immigrant experience. As I get older I’ve been thinking about how complex it was for us to figure out who we were. Adolescence is tough enough. Being an immigrant becoming an adolescent in a foreign country can’t be told in just one story. Until now we’ve only been allowed one everything. But we layered man. Plus I grew up in a small college town. And I’m still learning about my hometown’s complexities. I grew up in Ithaca and then went to Cornell University in Ithaca where my fellow Ivy League students put down people from Ithaca as “townies.” And back then I never thought they were referring to me. Because I’d made it out. Or is it made it up?
You see Cornell sits on a hill. And as you go down the hill you realize it’s a different world. The people look different. People live hard lives down that hill. It’s a world that I was shielded from when I grew up there. I hear my childhood friends who still live there share their struggles with me and I don’t know if I’m supposed to feel bad for them or feel bad for me because I left. Even now when I go back, even though my parents no longer live there, I feel out of place. I’m from here, just like you, I feel like saying. But I know people down the hill don’t look at me as their own.
It’s a strange feeling to not feel like you have a home base. Ithaca was for a long time. My parents bought their first home when I was in college. I didn’t grow up in that house. We lived in two apartments before that. Now they live in Little Rock. When people ask me if I’m going home for the holidays. I tell them I’m going to visit my parents. It’s not home. Mom and Dad, I don’t want you to feel bad when you read this. I don’t blame you for any of this. None of it is your fault. I know you guys did whatever was best for our family. And nothing was easy. I have no idea how you did it. How you hid all the pain and suffering from us.
I’ve moved around a lot in New York. It’s given me a taste of different neighborhoods and cultures and every experience has been rewarding in their own way. My latest neighborhood is a little less inspiring. Although I can already feel it changing. I see the people moving into the building. And I wonder if the old residents see me in the same light. Do they not want me here? Or do they see me as one of them? Don’t worry I will not claim this as my home. But I won’t disrespect it either. It’s just temporary. As temporary as 12 months can be. 12 months is a year. I’ll be 40 right around this time next year. 12 months. Hopefully I’ll feel more settled then. But isn’t settling bad? Folks always talking about never settle. Folks always talking about never giving up. But I wonder what they’re going for. What’s the goal? What do you do when you achieve that? What happens then? Is money the goal? Fame? Putting people on? Early retirement doesn’t sound fun to me.
I see more of my folks moving to LA. I get why. I see folks moving to more purpose or cause related work. I get why. But maybe without everything that came before it, whatever it may be, it wouldn’t feel as good. Without the brutal winters in NY the sun in LA isn’t as warm. Without all the soulless mindless work that paid you lots of money the feel good heartwarming work that pays you less couldn’t happen. So what’s my next step? What’s my next risk? My gamble? Applause to folks who don’t make it seem easy. And if it is easy for you then maybe do something else. As for me, I’m just trying to get home.
