Found myself writing this on Facebook

When I first moved here, I thought I wouldn't stay.

That's not because I didn't love it. I adored it. I adored it and then I hated it and then I adored it some more. I left it once, I left it again. I left for weeks and months at a time, but I couldn't bring myself to entirely turn in my key.

Since 1997, I have racked up five different addresses, four phone numbers, but no calling birds or turtle doves. And the entire time I have said to myself, I will leave someday. Because there are other places I want to explore.

That is still true. And so I am torn. I still want to live in New York, London, Sydney if Adam would deign to visit Australia. Yet I've built this life here. As I get older, my definitions of freedom and boundary begin to flip-flop. I don't know if I feel free or not for having built this life.