Lake Michigan is a solid blue phenomenon below us. An ocean — but not — fading seamlessly into the blue-white sky. I’m overcome. By longing, sadness, nostalgia. Homesick.
Is this what happens when you reach a certain age? You long for your mother’s house, the place of your birth, the grass and the wind in the trees of your youth? I wanted nothing more than to leave, to go so far away that the pain went away, too. It doesn’t. I went far, the pain only changes. I’m okay with that, now, I suppose.
But I wasn’t expecting nostalgia to render me so desperate. I ache for the glimmering green-blue lakes, my disgust for the cloudy, brown, dammed lakes of the southeast rising. How can I love a place and think about leaving it? How can I dream about returning to a place I hated?
The big lake fades. I think about my motherless home, where I’m the mother, the caretaker, the nurturer. And I have no children, just my pets, my husband, my things. I do a shit job. I want to be taken care of, to be mothered and nurtured.
Taking care of myself for so long has made me hard, calloused, and yet somehow, far more permeable. I no longer want to throw it off.
I am not very good at making or keeping friends. I assume for two reasons: 1) My nature is peculiarly solitary and independent. I resist and I make little effort, but I also don’t think about it much. 2) I do not think I received the sort of nurturing that fostered a receptivity towards close connections with people.
Before (before when?) I wished to just go far, and stay away, stay alone. But now, alongside it is this other thing. A drawing back, towards home, towards community, a sentiment I practically choke on. It’s uncomfortable to even write it.
My grandpa passed away recently; my last remaining grandparent. I can’t help but wonder if I had known him — any of them — as an adult, would I have a better sense of how to build community, foster familial connection? Would I have learned to build happiness like what I saw in those old photos? Something that comes only from being surrounded by family and friends that feel like family. Would I get it? Or would I still long for, and make, distance?
I’m crossing the country back into my life, ending my brief return to childhood. So many things about it I look forward to. But that lingering, niggling call to something else that I’ve been fighting all year? I dread it, I’m exhausted by it. I know I simply ought to face it, sit with it, observe it. I have. I ought to pull at the threads of curiosity, keep doing the hard things, at work, at home, and in my marriage. But when, where, how is the give?
What if? is a powerful temptress, too eager to drag you down the path of discontentment. She’s also a gentle leader. I’m having a hard time determining if she’s a friend or foe this time around. We’re so easily conned into desire these days, I don’t know what’s real.
Lake Michigan and Okauchee, Oconomowoc, Beaver, and Pine Lakes are long gone. I don’t know when or under what circumstances I’ll see them again. My parents talk of moving. My heart aches. My animals wait for my return.
My mind wanders. What if? And, what then?
https://rebeccamlh.medium.com/on-flying-home-1a0412468407