I always think of going home with such jubilation that I forget that it isn’t necessarily a universal sentiment. I stay at my parent’s house instead of renting a hotel room, even if that means I have occasionally been stuck sleeping on a sofa in the living room. I know that I’ll always be welcomed with open arms, a full fridge, available laundry facilities, and keys to the family car.
My circumstances for this trip are reason to celebrate- a childhood friend is getting married. It’ll be a reunion of sorts with some of my favorite girlfriends, and Ill squeeze in brunch, coffee, and drinks around the ceremony and reception. I’ve scheduled play dates with friends’ children so that I can animate the annual Christmas photos with real life voices and personalities.
But I have other friends who aren’t so lucky. Going home for them means facing family feuds, discrediting rumors that have made their way across the coast to haunt their reputation, and disrupting an already overloaded schedule. Their hearts left long ago, and there are no hats to be hung in their houses.
On this trip a few different worlds will collide. One girlfriend from New York will be attending the wedding, while another one recently moved back home after realizing that the city wasn’t for her. I’ll prepare my answers to explain, “How life in New York is treating me” in under three sentences, but I’ll be aware that I now have an audience that can judge my authenticity.
Going home for me is an escape, a return to a world that I didn’t race away from to never look back. It’s a world that I left reassured would be waiting for me to return with a bundle of balloons and a ticker tape parade. It’s my safe place, and I’m looking forward to a weekend in the center of my universe- especially knowing that New York will still be there reluctantly waiting at the airport for my return.
I was struck by my cynicism tonight as a girlfriend told the story of a meet-cute that was almost too good to be true (see, there I go doubting love already!). A girl lived here, the guy lived in England. They met while she was on a family vacation and decided to remain pen pals.
There are certain people who make more of an impression on your mind than they ever do in your life.
I’ve heard a number of idiotic excuses from guys in the past as to why they didn’t want to get involved:
Let me just start by saying that it wasn’t forthcoming. The first communication I got the day after being asked along on someone else’s date was as noncommittal and oblivious as the 
The luck of the leprechauns was not with me yesterday. In fact, I’m wondering if ancestors of mine were actually gold thieves and I’m living out a curse based on their bad behavior.
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