In Life on
August 15, 2016

Two Months Later

Georgetown Canal

Georgetown Canal

The weirdest thing about having an apartment all to yourself is the silence. The gentle pad of bare feet on wooden parquet floors. The constant hum of the too-powerful air conditioning, and the stifling humidity outside when you manage to get the window open.

I’m a slow adjuster to life in new places. And I have a lot of needs that I haven’t fulfilled yet. I need a coffee shop. I need a local bar to call my own. I need a hair salon, and a corner store. I need a church. I need a Thai place, or even better, an Indian place. I need open spaces. There are things like this that I haven’t figured out yet.

And that’s normal. I’m still exhausted after work every day. I’m usually too tired to do anything on the weekends except bake and read and call friends, and maybe if I’m ambitious, I’ll run when it’s not too muggy. But I still find myself slogging slowly around the Lincoln Memorial, dodging tourists, losing my pace again, and realizing that moving to another place doesn’t just mean moving all of your stuff.

It means moving your heart, too. And a little piece of mine is stuck in Missouri. Along with the little piece stuck in the lake-riddled north-easternmost county of Illinois. And the piece lodged in the sugar sand of Santa Rosa Beach on the Gulf.

So maybe this is how we do it. We take little pieces of our hearts and hide them all over.

I guess the trick is never asking for them back.

 

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