After days of excitement, a few hurried hours of packing and a solid 20 minutes of sleep, I set out on my trip home to South Dakota. With only a few minor delays and a jolted bus ride, I made my way to La Guardia Airport with an hour to spare before boarding. Following a quick luggage check and losing my headphones to the security X-ray machine, I sat in the terminal waiting to board. A mundane news program droned in the background recounting the weekend’s news of canceled flights and a snowball fight with an armed police officer as I sat thinking about what it would be like to go home for the first time since the big move.
To pass the time, I sat listening to the conversations of my fellow travelers. Without the solitude of my headphones to keep me entertained, I resulted to social interaction. Speaking with the two young women across from me, we shared our destinations and how we were spending the holidays. They chatted about their trip back to Chicago where they were meeting up with friends for a flight to South America for a month of backpacking and wine tasting. While envious of their adventure, I detailed my plans for eating Taco John’s, drinking with friends and celebrating with family.
Though certainly not nearly as exotic an adventure as my temporary friends’, my trip home was beginning to sound like a much-needed vacation. Though I haven’t exactly worked my ass off or been through a particularly stressful time, I felt that my journey home would provide an essential revitalization of the soul. But in that same instant, I felt a yearning to go back out through security, reclaim my bag and return to my bed, or couch.
I wasn’t sure from where this feeling sprang. Just hours prior, I laid in the dark while thinking of all the exciting things I would do when I was home. Now I was beginning to feel remorse for leaving my new home behind after a three-month love affair only to return to the old flame from back home. Maybe my hesitation stemmed from guilt. After all, my roommate couldn’t afford the time to take a trip home and I was fortunate enough to be able to. Even more than guilt, I think my feeling of wanting to stay was a desire to be a part of my new home. With two new roommates moving into the adjacent apartment, my New York family was beginning to grow and I wanted to be there to share in the fun.
Now, as I sit several thousand feet in the air, I sense a strong pull to return to the city. Even though I’ve only been gone for an hour, I feel strangely disconnected from some non-vital yet extremely important organ. I know that something is missing, but am unable to point to a specific identifier. Perhaps it’s just the nervous jitters of flying alone or the incessant beating of my head in tandem with the electronic Japanese technopop of my flight companion, but something feels a little off-kilter.
My friend Katie warned me about this. She said that the first time I left the city I would begin to notice differences. Transitioning from the manic streets of Midtown to the empty intersections of suburban South Dakota would come as a subtle shock. From a skyline reaching the clouds to the endless stretches of strip malls, Katie said that returning to the Midwest is like going back to your old high school — you remember everything about it, but you just don’t belong there any more.
Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. I still have much to look forward to in the coming weeks. Reunions with friends, warm embraces from family and at least one debilitating hangover all linger just over the horizon of the holiday season. With inclement weather ahead and an hour more of techno torture to endure, I keep one thought in mind: at least I’m not sitting next to Sarah Palin.
Geoffrey Nixon is a graduate of Roosevelt High School and South Dakota State University. He recently moved to New York City.
