As the plane glided lower, the clouds formed a mist; all the lights blurred and the air felt heavy. I had just gotten through a very, very grim part of my book, 1984, which doesn't paint a very bright picture overall. I have done this before, I thought to myself, not sure which emotion suited this particular landing. Two parents. Two states. That was how it had been since I was 8 years old, back in my 'unaccompanied minor' days. Now I'm 22."Welcome to the Garden State," a voice says to no one in particular. I immediately think about my mom, how much I miss her, always missed her after I moved in with my dad. Then I remember all the places I didn't see, places that make Chicago home. Michigan Avenue would have been touristy, I reassure myself; but what about Armitage and it's boutiques, the Green City Market, North Avenue Beach and Castaways, and the old Marshall Field's for Frango chocolates.
I've found myself doing this a lot lately; missing people and cities. The more I think about it, the more I realize that if your lucky, you will always have people and places to miss. That's kind of the beauty of this whole thing called life, for me at least. Tonight I'm missing Paris and Chicago, but tomorrow I'm off to Cape Cod, to fall in love with another place.