I like to think of Atlanta as the east coast. In fact, when I first wrote the About section of this blog, I wrote that I was an “east coast transplant,” which I begrudgingly changed when a certain someone forced me to admit that, why yes, it’s true…I do live in the South, and there ain’t no sugarcoatin’ it.
But I didn’t always (live in the South, not disguise my reality with not-so-clever vernacular). I grew up moving every 3 years until college…my parents, four other siblings and myself went globetrotting à la the von Trapps, albeit the military edition. At the end of such days, each of my siblings ended up for a time in California. Before my first round of grad school (which landed me in afore mentioned Southern city), I spent 8 years in the sunshine state (no, Florida, not you), forgetting that subzero temperatures existed, wearing scarves as accessories and living in close community with some of the most precious people (to me) on this planet.
Flash forward to now. Incredible things have happened in the last several years. I went continent skipping again. I met NPR, and so many other wonderful friends. I got my first Masters degree. I decided to pursue clinical medicine once and for all. But right now I find myself stuck in the loneliness of transition, with state and transcontinental divides between me and those I love best. And with each week that goes by, I feel an eerie sense of time irreparably lost through our separation. I’ve found myself growing increasingly…not homesick but heartsick, for reunion, for history, for communal familiarity. Please don’t misinterpret, you sick kids.
The cure for the heartsick? Sunshine, in the most unlikely of forms.
In the moody drizzle of Seattle. A visit to my grande-sœur and le hubby. Avec NPR. Too many good things to say–a full post later, I promise.
In an unexpected visit from the dearest of friends: Irish and Lucy Lam. Sushi and wine. Perhaps a bit too much. But far be it from me to forbid feasting with friends.
These are small things. But they help me remember…well, you already read it when you opened up this post. And this too:
Ne sois pas découragé.
Tu n’es pas oublié.
Laguna Beach photos courtesy of Christen Bridgewater and Emily Birkeland.