Yesterday I went back home, to Oxon Hill to check up on everything and everyone. And though I live in the brilliant city of New York, my home will always be...home. New York has yet to provide me with a motherly hug. It has never given me fatherly advice. It has been, sort of, a big brother, but not like the one I have there. Nor could it match my little brother's excitement or my sister's pride. The friends I have in New York are special and always will be, but many of them were just plucked from my hometown crop, which has made it easier. When I go home to visit, I'm reminded of how much I love it there. Im also reminded how happy I am that I left a long time ago. I'd be a different person if I stayed. Not because home is regressive or slow or anything like that. But because the umbilical chord is Teflon. Ain't no cuttin' it. What I mean is, there's very little, if any, opportunity for discomfort for me there, and discomfort is what I needed to grow and test my abilities and survival instincts, as well as my mental fortitude.
Man or mouse is best determined when we separate ourselves from familiar faces because then we are forced to make tough decisions.
1. Do we make unfamiliar faces, familiar, and fight to make uncomfortable circumstances, comfortable?
2. Do we resolve to living lonely and uncomfortable?
3. Do we run and return to the nest of our yesterdays, where the familiar have kept our seats warm, our food hot, and our beds made?
Home will always be home, and I'm grateful for that. But I'm a number one kind of guy, chipping away to make an uncomfortable situation into a new home, all while somehow exposing the brick in myself.