For the past 10 days we’ve been living with my parents, as our things (hopefully) make their way across the country.
In preparation for this 10 day stay, Ali filled suitcase(s) with 15 button down shirts, 7 pairs of khaki pants, 2 pairs of jeans, 3 pairs of shoes, slippers, 4 belts, a Wii Balance Board, and a variety of weather appropriate items like a down-filled jacket and ear muffs.
And just to clarify, he did not pack the Wii, just the Balance Board.
Me: “Are you kidding me?”
Ali: “This is what happens when you let me pack my things.”
Five hours after Ali and his luggage left – the reasons he was on a different flight is a whole other post – Maya and I leisurely made our way through LAX with one carry-on each.
And once I’d settled her on the plane with the iPad, a book, and the requisite barf bag, I realized that without Ali to supervise there was nothing left to do.
Which immediately led me to start over-thinking our move:
- I wonder how long will it take me to find a job?
- Will the extreme NYC temperatures prove too much for Ali to handle?
- I will miss my parents. And my brother, sister-in-law, brother-in-law, and my best friend Nadia.
- I hope CPK isn’t too far from our place.
- Our new place is small. What if we go the way of “The Shining” in the middle of January?
And finally: were we crazy to leave behind a perfectly good life to move across the country?
But then at midnight, after we’d landed at Newark and I’d bundled myself, Maya, and her barf bag into a car, and we drove towards Manhattan?
I realized I was finally home.