We are half way through Didier's contract at the hotel and the question that continues to haunt us both, though we have a difficult time discussing it together, is "Where do we go next?" There is no secret that I could leave Barbados tonight with an overnight bag and some toys for the girls and be gone, but that is really just a fantasy. There is much to consider. A place where we could feel safe and stimulated intellectually, emotionally, artistically, spiritually. Lily's schooling. Somewhere we could afford and possibly call home for years to come. It gets harder as the kids get older because we don't want them to have to leave their friends constantly. Lily forms lasting friendships and attachments. Yes, she is only four years old, but I can still see the scars of the upheaval from New York. Her sense of security comes from faces she is familiar with, people she can trust, routine. That said, she will attach to Barbados in ways that we will not and we won't be able, or willing, to stay here forever for that. So already I know that I will hurt her no matter the decision.
In my mind, it has always been New York and everywhere else. It still stands that way to some degree. Forever in my heart will be the place where everyone flies a freak flag, even the straightest arrow, and where, despite the show business there is honesty and integrity in the choices. Sure there are pretensions and egos at exhausting levels, but there is room for everyone and we all still have to wait together on line at the DMV or on the subway. You can find your own band of freaks and keep it moving. It's why people from small towns all over the world funnel into the mecca to try to make the world their own. The pettiness of small town living behind them, they are able to unfurl their flag, open to their hearts to their own joy, and live. I miss it.
My freak flag has long been flying at half mast or, at times, taken down completely. It's no fun being a freak in a tiny village and surely not if that village is a developing country situated in the Caribbean all by its lonesome with identity issues of its own. You stand out. You become a target. We don't want to be a target. We don't want attention. And for all the parading in New York, you have to do a hell of a lot to get attention. Everyone is pretty much doing their own thing and doesn't have time to stop and check the others. Maybe a glance, a smile, a rolled eye, or a head shake, but nothing to write home about. And here, I am writing home.
New York was my home. And she isn't any longer. I have taken over a year to get that into my thick skull. I don't live there anymore. No one is waiting on my return, not exactly. While we have many friends and relations there that we miss and talk about all the time, life has gone on, new restaurants, shops, hotels have gone up on streets that we love and we are not there to make note. Subway fares have increased and though the rest of the country endures a tough housing market, real estate in New York is reported as brisk. We cannot afford to move back. Not financially and not emotionally. It's the sad truth and one that has left me bereft and unable to express my grief.
I have made friends here that I love and care about and I can see how happy my children are with a beautiful big house and a pool and the sea at walking distance. But I cannot shake the feeling that I am still barely awake, in a dream state where I am not sure if I am actually asleep dreaming, or if I am walking through life completely fogged. The alternate universe where MY head exists isn't in Barbados because I do not exist in the present. Whenever I return to the life I knew, I feel like I've come back from an alien abduction and cannot account for the time. I am already planning for our departure even though I don't quite know where we will go. I am not quite depressed, and certainly not as I was when we arrived, but neither is my heart chakra spinning like a dervish, radiating, glowing, inspiring.
There is a low, dull hum of resignation to our situation here. I have the feeling that I must accept it for the sake of the family entire, rather than project my dreams and needs right now. While I don't miss the mess that is our healthcare system, nor the increasingly expensive task of providing my children with a good education and exposure to culture, art, and intellectual stimulation, I miss the States. I miss the New York Times. I miss good Chinese food. I miss foreign films. I miss dialogue. I miss my friends, my city, my neighborhood, my work, my agents, the buzz, the pulse. And maybe I will miss that wherever I go.
(c) Copyright 2010. City Mom in the Jungle.
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