Roots as deep as skyscrapers

Just got back from a week long trip to my hometown...Chicago!

Arriving in the windy city makes me feel complete. Whole. Happy. I have so many good memories and so many bloody awful ones. And, somehow, the mix works out and I never want to leave. The hustle invigorates me. The bustle produces a giant shout, "I'm home! Look, everyone! I'm home!" Of course, no one notices, which is ever so comforting. And then, I feel weepy. I'm just a tourist. I'm not really home. Just visiting. Ever feel that way? Like there's a slice of beauty and everafter yumminess that you just can't quite grab hold of?

And yet, as Hemingway, a Chicago native himself, once said, "It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end."

And he is right. And I hope, one day, to go home. Really go home. But it won't be today, or tomorrow, or next week. But I'll get there. And my path, however winding, will make it all the more worthwhile.