I moved back to Missouri in part because I was on a journey to discover what “home” really meant to me.
In many ways Brooklyn was the place that felt the most like home to me of everywhere I’d lived and traveled. I came to Brooklyn expecting to take a few interviews, catch up with friends, and see some museums over the course of nine days.
I was surprised to find myself falling in love with the streets and brownstones of Park Slope. Apparently my parents knew before I did that New York was the place I needed to call home at that point in my life, because when I called them to announce that I’d cancelled my return flight to St. Louis, they weren’t at all surprised.
I felt as if the city’s streets were a treadmill set to move at precisely the speed of life at which I was most comfortable. I loved the eclectic people, the coffee shops, pizza by the slice, and hearing foreign languages all around me.
I had a small network of friends in Brooklyn who offered me couches to sleep on, taught me the subway lines, and helped me find freelance work. By the time I found my full time job a few weeks later, Brooklyn was the only place I could imagine living.
Brooklyn is the physical place that has felt the most like “home” to me. At some point, though, I began to realize that my love for location was holding me back from other things…
This is part two in a multi-part story that I hope will answer what seems to be my life’s biggest question, “Why did you move from New York to rural Missouri?” Come back tomorrow to read more.