The Life and the Dream

Contrary to the impression that my blog may have given these past weeks, my life is not a continuous procession of cake-filled holidays. Adapting to my new life is a daily struggle, and on far more days than M. would like, those struggles end in tears.

This is not my first time living outside of New York. I moved away for my undergraduate studies, for work in France, and for graduate studies. But it was different then. I left without saying goodbye. I moved away knowing I would come back in 4 months, in 6 months, in a year. And, while I made a life for myself while away, it was not my life. My life was waiting for me, back home, in New York. I considered those moments away to be tangential to my real life, side stories to the main plot. In the meantime, New York - or, at least the parts that mattered to me - lived in suspension. The life of my friends and my family plodded along, but slowly, and superficially without change. Of course, I missed birthdays, barbecues, peruvian dinners, but these were minor, and as long as they were kept to a minimum I could always "catch up."

I have always known Guadeloupe would be different. I told my friends and family that it would be years before I could move back. Three years, 5 years. But, I knew, even then, that we would be here much longer. Time builds familiarity. Familiarity brings habit. Habit breeds permanence. I've started to believe that I will live here for the rest of my life.

So when I cry, I cry for the accumulation of family parties, cozy dinners, at-home movies that form a life, an entire life that I will not be able to catch up to.

There is more than that, though. Accepting a life here means more than giving up a life in New York. It means giving up a dream. A dream that combined everything that I have always known and everything that I assumed would be.

It was in that spirit that I read Thomas Beller's article in the NYTimes published last Friday. He writes about his studio apartment in the West Village where he has lived for 13 years, and his impending move. He has fond memories of that apartment, but writes: "To what extent does living with the past impede living in the present? Or living for the future?" I teared up when I read those lines. I hadn't asked myself those questions, but felt that I had been living the hard truth of the answer for several months.

At the end of the month, I am going back to New York to finalize paperwork. I think I will take this opportunity to formally say goodbye to New York, in the hopes that in doing so I can let go and embrace my new life in Guadeloupe. And the dream? M. and I will share new dreams for our new life together. But, I will keep the dream of New York, deep in a crevice of my heart, in the hopes that someday it might come true.