What makes something home?
As I was suffering/enjoying what I told Steve was a boring workout this weekend (not every workout will knock your socks off or crush your legs), I rode through Needham and saw a sign proclaiming it the home of Aly Raisman, Olympic Gold Medalist. The question of home has come up multiple times: what is home? Is home where the heart is? Is home where you were born? Is home where you are now? If I were an olympian now (not that it’s ever happening), which city would try to claim me as the hometown kid1?
Jacksonville, to be honest, never felt like home while I was living there, though I have felt the need from time to time to defend the city from its detractors. The DC area never felt like home but I think perhaps a bit of that was unhappiness with the situation there. Perhaps it was all the stress of my job there, the situation that brought me down there, the je nais se
quaquoi of what home really is? I don’t know. Boston has felt like home, at times. Part of that is family, part of that is friends. But there is also something about Boston, that despite having great friends and great family and great places to run and ride and drink and hang out… it sometimes feels like the city isn’t home, yet. It has its moments, its place and its quirks, like the way the city winds its ways around the water and always appears to be 90° from where you think it would be.
- This is why I should never be allowed to train on no breakfast or fuel during the ride ↩