There is something in a city that we've once called home that holds onto us, that we won't let go. A tug of war for our soul, memories the rope that we're both pulling. Good or bad, all indelibly imprinted on us, though overlaid with other memories so that we think them forgotten. Until, "on little cat's feet," some sight or sound or smell sneaks up on us, the memories crashing back with unexpected intensity.
As someone who left their home country, this beautifully expressed what I sometimes experience, too! These feelings have intensified with age and as relatives start to pass away.
You are such a gifted writer. The exquisite simplicity of your description of normal everyday childhood trauma as "It was scary. I was little. I didn't like it," was great. And hearing again the phrase "hell's waiting room" evokes thoughts of all who are there, not because of aged decrepitude, but because of a deliberate choice to reject God. But as long as a person has breath, change to heaven's waiting room is possible. God allows U-turns.
Beautifully written in general, but thank you for putting into words something that I struggled with several years back when I had to deal with multiple family estates at the same time. It can be emotionally taxing even when the deceased’s affairs are in perfect order, and if they left a mess for you to sort out, wow, it’s a nightmare…but I found myself dragging my heels on finishing the last few tasks to close out the estates, because once your loved ones have been wound down as a legal entity, there really is nothing left externally except for pictures and a headstone. It’s maybe their last tangible anchor to the world outside your memories, and then you have to finally say goodbye to their active presence in your life.
My old landlord’s son called me yesterday to get my opinion on moving companies. After three generations, the clan that rented us our apartment for 12 years and didn’t raise the rent because we were “good”, are selling and moving to Florida. I am not sure they even know why. It’s just that things have got harder even as they have got ostensibly nicer. I thought New York was an eternal city that could shed its skin and still be what it was. I think now it could be moving to Florida.
*I really hope it’s clear that I’d do not actually consider that you are a heartless witch, but this is the internet and the world is teetering on what used to be norms of civility, so here is the disclaimer
I lived in nyc during my 20's. This was during the 60's which those of us who llived there at that time still think were the best years. I loved it but somehow knew it was never going to be "home". At the age of 30 I read an essay by Joan Didion who had lived in NYC for years but moved to California with her . She used to come back often and during one visit, wrote an essay about NY being for the young . There was always a new generation coming up behind. I had just turned 30 when I read that essay. Friends were getting married and moving to othe suburbs. ,MY roommate was also movingand would then yet again find a new apartment and yes, there was a whole new crop of 20 somethings surrounding me in the office. They were all dewy eyed and full of the kiind of dreams which do tarnish after a few years in the city. I left New York years and years ago but those years in NY have never left me. They are stored in my memory box up on a shelf and I bring them down when I need a NY "fix". I live in Mexico now and know I will never go back but how glad i am that once i was that dewy eyed girl with her dreams.
I think you are over the target, in terms of the seasons of our lives and how we see things differently as we age. It's such a fundamental, universal experience.
What a heavy journey you have been on. I’m so happy you have completed all those tasks and can just go back home. I hope you feel a huge weight off of your shoulders. It’s such an interesting component of the human experience to walk down city blocks, past places where you once lived, places where profound experiences happened and to think about what went down. It happens to me so often when I am in San Francisco where I grew up. About two weeks ago I was visiting one of my mom’s old friends in San Francisco. We walked from her house over to the building where my mom died. It used to be a Catholic convent but was then turned into a hospice care residence for cancer patients. We talked about all of the funny, strange, confusing ,and heartbreaking things that happened when we were all together for the last weeks of her life. We thought about knocking on the door and asking to come sit inside for awhile but I just couldn’t do it. But, we did sit across the street on a bench and gaze inside for a few hours. It’s the same bench that my brother and I would come sit on sometimes when we needed a break from watching our mom struggle to just let go at leave this life behind. Usually I can’t even walk down that block. I felt a little lighter after I got back home that day, I hope you do too.
I've been to NYC just once, during Fleet Week via US Navy ship, but you immersed me in a way a brief visit does not allow. I can feel the people, sounds and smells swirling around as you lived your life. It also helped me reflect on why I was drawn back to northwest Florida where I mostly grew up. I had a good childhood, spending much time with my maternal grandparents as a child of divorce, and the picture of you with your granny brought back memories of gardening with my grandmother and going with my grandfather to pick up shrimp and oysters for his gumbo. They are long gone but still here in my memory and my obsessive gardening. I love the feel and smell of the deep south: the dripping humidity, the warm Gulf, the vibrant greenery, the wild smell of the sea, raging tropical storms. But as those I love leave and I grow older, I look to the next stage. Our ties to places where there is memory of relationships can never be fully severed. Even though I'm one of those who makes few close friends, I'm still connected by my memories and a mother who is still here. Once her time passes, we will move. For now, I enjoy her splitting her time between our household in the country and a sister in Pensacola. I also stay to finish building a memorial to a lost daughter. Loss can be consuming and my husband and I have built a homestead farm from timberland, for the memory of the young woman and ag major who didn't get a chance to have her own farm. As aging and arthritis work to slow me down, I know I have to let go someday. I will always have the memories and I will love to someday see a family with children running around, enjoying the wonders of nature the way our daughter loved nature. Chris helped to make something beautiful; your son. Our daughter has driven us to make something beautiful.
Been thinking about this subject, our hometowns, ghost towns, damned if we do and damned if we do not ...
You get in there into those subjects, always there bothering one, difficult to articulate and define ...
There is a Romanian poet that I follow, Carmen Pasat, superb in her poetry, getting deep into those impossible areas ... and prose like this is the same ...
This piece has clearly touched many hearts as the comments demonstrate. My husband grew up in Westchester County in the 70s and 80s and the city was his playground. We’ve been back as a family a few times and he goes occasionally for work. Can’t fathom living there for any reason.
I am a fifth generation Puget Sounder and Seattle was my playground in the 80s and 90s. My parents and huge extended family still mostly live there. I can’t bear to even visit given what it’s become.
He and I have both lived *away* for decades and talk frequently about the strange feeling of how much your childhood home is a part of you in a totally inarticulable way … but yet you can never go home again. What a strange part of being a modern human.
Contrast this with Paul Kingsnorth’s recent musings on being rooted, and with my husband’s and my insatiable wanderlust, and having lived for some time in a place which isn’t home but is comfortable and familiar, and there is a lot to consider in the idea of place.
When I saw the title of your post, I was anticipating another hit piece on New York City. Maybe because I live near San Francisco, the topic of our great cities in decline is on my mind. However, as I read, I saw that you were describing something more internal to you. I was reminded of feelings I had this past week as I visited my sister in the town where we grew up. She stayed, I left. The whole time I was there I wrestled with conflicting emotions and ambivalence: the adult condition. Like you, I couldn’t wait to get back home. Thank you for your essay today.
There is something in a city that we've once called home that holds onto us, that we won't let go. A tug of war for our soul, memories the rope that we're both pulling. Good or bad, all indelibly imprinted on us, though overlaid with other memories so that we think them forgotten. Until, "on little cat's feet," some sight or sound or smell sneaks up on us, the memories crashing back with unexpected intensity.
Thanks, Jenny.
This is beautifully expressed, thank you.
As someone who left their home country, this beautifully expressed what I sometimes experience, too! These feelings have intensified with age and as relatives start to pass away.
Thank you for sharing your heart with us, Jenny. I, too, am now praying for the soul of Chris.
Me too
Thank you -- that means so much to me.
You are such a gifted writer. The exquisite simplicity of your description of normal everyday childhood trauma as "It was scary. I was little. I didn't like it," was great. And hearing again the phrase "hell's waiting room" evokes thoughts of all who are there, not because of aged decrepitude, but because of a deliberate choice to reject God. But as long as a person has breath, change to heaven's waiting room is possible. God allows U-turns.
Yes, that makes sense to me now in a way that it didn't when I was young and callow.
Outstandingly evocative essay.
Thank you!
Beautifully written in general, but thank you for putting into words something that I struggled with several years back when I had to deal with multiple family estates at the same time. It can be emotionally taxing even when the deceased’s affairs are in perfect order, and if they left a mess for you to sort out, wow, it’s a nightmare…but I found myself dragging my heels on finishing the last few tasks to close out the estates, because once your loved ones have been wound down as a legal entity, there really is nothing left externally except for pictures and a headstone. It’s maybe their last tangible anchor to the world outside your memories, and then you have to finally say goodbye to their active presence in your life.
Yes, that's exactly it! Thank you.
Stop making me cry, you heartless witch.*
My old landlord’s son called me yesterday to get my opinion on moving companies. After three generations, the clan that rented us our apartment for 12 years and didn’t raise the rent because we were “good”, are selling and moving to Florida. I am not sure they even know why. It’s just that things have got harder even as they have got ostensibly nicer. I thought New York was an eternal city that could shed its skin and still be what it was. I think now it could be moving to Florida.
*I really hope it’s clear that I’d do not actually consider that you are a heartless witch, but this is the internet and the world is teetering on what used to be norms of civility, so here is the disclaimer
It's abundantly clear, no need for a disclaimer, though I still appreciate it, as a former New Yorker who gets it. 💚
My words can't adequately describe how your words bring us into the moment Jenny. Best
Thank you Joe!
A beautiful remembrance. Lighting a candle for Chris, and for you and your son. Peace, and blessings of memory...for it all.
Thank you so much. 💚
I lived in nyc during my 20's. This was during the 60's which those of us who llived there at that time still think were the best years. I loved it but somehow knew it was never going to be "home". At the age of 30 I read an essay by Joan Didion who had lived in NYC for years but moved to California with her . She used to come back often and during one visit, wrote an essay about NY being for the young . There was always a new generation coming up behind. I had just turned 30 when I read that essay. Friends were getting married and moving to othe suburbs. ,MY roommate was also movingand would then yet again find a new apartment and yes, there was a whole new crop of 20 somethings surrounding me in the office. They were all dewy eyed and full of the kiind of dreams which do tarnish after a few years in the city. I left New York years and years ago but those years in NY have never left me. They are stored in my memory box up on a shelf and I bring them down when I need a NY "fix". I live in Mexico now and know I will never go back but how glad i am that once i was that dewy eyed girl with her dreams.
I think you are over the target, in terms of the seasons of our lives and how we see things differently as we age. It's such a fundamental, universal experience.
What a heavy journey you have been on. I’m so happy you have completed all those tasks and can just go back home. I hope you feel a huge weight off of your shoulders. It’s such an interesting component of the human experience to walk down city blocks, past places where you once lived, places where profound experiences happened and to think about what went down. It happens to me so often when I am in San Francisco where I grew up. About two weeks ago I was visiting one of my mom’s old friends in San Francisco. We walked from her house over to the building where my mom died. It used to be a Catholic convent but was then turned into a hospice care residence for cancer patients. We talked about all of the funny, strange, confusing ,and heartbreaking things that happened when we were all together for the last weeks of her life. We thought about knocking on the door and asking to come sit inside for awhile but I just couldn’t do it. But, we did sit across the street on a bench and gaze inside for a few hours. It’s the same bench that my brother and I would come sit on sometimes when we needed a break from watching our mom struggle to just let go at leave this life behind. Usually I can’t even walk down that block. I felt a little lighter after I got back home that day, I hope you do too.
What a wonderful writer you are! Thank you for giving us this. It will stay with me.
Thank you for reading!
Wonderful piece. Like a novel in miniature. Says so much.
This is a very kind thing to say - much appreciated.
Of course one could quite easily imagine a novel of 500 pages outlining the story you tell.
Well, funny you should say that...I have some ideas! (Though I'm resolutely opposed to writing a novel, I keep getting advised otherwise.)
I absolutely agree. It is a novel in the making. So well done and beautifully written.
I've been to NYC just once, during Fleet Week via US Navy ship, but you immersed me in a way a brief visit does not allow. I can feel the people, sounds and smells swirling around as you lived your life. It also helped me reflect on why I was drawn back to northwest Florida where I mostly grew up. I had a good childhood, spending much time with my maternal grandparents as a child of divorce, and the picture of you with your granny brought back memories of gardening with my grandmother and going with my grandfather to pick up shrimp and oysters for his gumbo. They are long gone but still here in my memory and my obsessive gardening. I love the feel and smell of the deep south: the dripping humidity, the warm Gulf, the vibrant greenery, the wild smell of the sea, raging tropical storms. But as those I love leave and I grow older, I look to the next stage. Our ties to places where there is memory of relationships can never be fully severed. Even though I'm one of those who makes few close friends, I'm still connected by my memories and a mother who is still here. Once her time passes, we will move. For now, I enjoy her splitting her time between our household in the country and a sister in Pensacola. I also stay to finish building a memorial to a lost daughter. Loss can be consuming and my husband and I have built a homestead farm from timberland, for the memory of the young woman and ag major who didn't get a chance to have her own farm. As aging and arthritis work to slow me down, I know I have to let go someday. I will always have the memories and I will love to someday see a family with children running around, enjoying the wonders of nature the way our daughter loved nature. Chris helped to make something beautiful; your son. Our daughter has driven us to make something beautiful.
Wow ... poignant ... bittersweet ...
Been thinking about this subject, our hometowns, ghost towns, damned if we do and damned if we do not ...
You get in there into those subjects, always there bothering one, difficult to articulate and define ...
There is a Romanian poet that I follow, Carmen Pasat, superb in her poetry, getting deep into those impossible areas ... and prose like this is the same ...
Our hometowns are ghost towns, aren't they? Very well put, thank you.
This piece has clearly touched many hearts as the comments demonstrate. My husband grew up in Westchester County in the 70s and 80s and the city was his playground. We’ve been back as a family a few times and he goes occasionally for work. Can’t fathom living there for any reason.
I am a fifth generation Puget Sounder and Seattle was my playground in the 80s and 90s. My parents and huge extended family still mostly live there. I can’t bear to even visit given what it’s become.
He and I have both lived *away* for decades and talk frequently about the strange feeling of how much your childhood home is a part of you in a totally inarticulable way … but yet you can never go home again. What a strange part of being a modern human.
Contrast this with Paul Kingsnorth’s recent musings on being rooted, and with my husband’s and my insatiable wanderlust, and having lived for some time in a place which isn’t home but is comfortable and familiar, and there is a lot to consider in the idea of place.
When I saw the title of your post, I was anticipating another hit piece on New York City. Maybe because I live near San Francisco, the topic of our great cities in decline is on my mind. However, as I read, I saw that you were describing something more internal to you. I was reminded of feelings I had this past week as I visited my sister in the town where we grew up. She stayed, I left. The whole time I was there I wrestled with conflicting emotions and ambivalence: the adult condition. Like you, I couldn’t wait to get back home. Thank you for your essay today.