Well, I have made it somewhere new -- but very old -- my hometown of Schenectady, New York.
There. The place I couldn't wait to leave. Who would want to live in the Capital District when your real "home" is the choir stalls at King's College, Cambridge, Westminster Abbey, etc.? This scrappy old GE town on the Mohawk River is a place I've criss-crossed through the years, even left storage here, but couldn't really imagine living in again. And then when my Dad died six years ago, his shadow loomed too large over everything in the New York City/Schenectady/Champlain Valley axis. These places were about him. His choices and preferences, not mine. Thus, in part, the return to Duluth a few years ago.
Then, earlier this year, as regular readers might remember, I basically forgave Schenectady. I mean, the city was not responsible for anything negative about my life. There was nothing "wrong" with the city and in certain respects, there was a perfection to it and the Capital District -- especially as it exposed me (in several local Episcopal churches) to the English men and boys' choir tradition. This would probably not have happened in most parts of the United States.
At some point this summer, I realized that not only did I have a "deadline" to move, but I was actually feeling that my time in Duluth was drawing to a close. Not seeing beyond that deadline, I was terrified, and I felt like I was dying. It was only by following several intuitive leads that the path continued to unfold -- and has brought me safely to Square One, only many points higher or further on the spiral. Being able to keep blogging about the hard process also kept me going. Thank you, readers, for being there.
Tonight, I'm scheduled to attend a play at the theater that used to be the Schenectady Light Opera Company -- the very place that my parents met! They were both volunteering behind the scenes (ticket-taking, scenery) at a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. It seems strangely fitting! Talk about Square One! For the first time in 50 years, I seem to be able to accept non-judgmentally that I am here, I never made it to England permanently, and it's OK. I'm OK, and I am still alive. I don't know where the autumn leaves are (the landscape travelled these last few days was shockingly green!) and there are many other changes. But for the moment, "there" has become "here". Here. I am Here.
I'll tell a few more stories about my travels early next week.
