Home is where I want to be when I have a migraine. Being nearly housebound since I moved to Boston in August, you’d think I’d be all set. Except that “home” is far more metaphorical than literal. In Seattle, my home was on the couch in front of the fire. Even if my apartment here had a fireplace, it wouldn’t be the same. Home is an emotional place, an emotional state. One that is found by feeling it. One I haven’t found since moving to Boston, not in my apartment or in the city.
Driving from the airport into Seattle the first time Hart and I visited, I knew I’d found my home. In fact, when I was 13 and first visited the Pacific Northwest, it felt like home even though I wasn’t aware of what that meant. Now I’m 3,000 miles away and I feel the distance acutely. I know Boston is a great city and there’s a ton to see and do in the Northeast. Enough friends of friends are here that I’m confident we can build a great social circle. The move isn’t intended to be permanent. All this logic doesn’t erase the ache for Seattle and the forests of the northwest.
Hart and I went back at Thanksgiving. The first morning, we went mushroom hunting. My heart sang as we drove through the city, seeing the water and evergreens. The ferns, the moss and the drizzle in the forest felt so good that I turned my face to the sky to soak it in. Then a severe migraine hit on the drive back to our friends’ place. The subsequent migraines were so bad that, except for a massage appointment, I didn’t leave their house until we went to the airport, 10 days after our intended departure. I have to wonder if not wanting to leave my beloved city was the primary migraine trigger.
Over the last month, the migraines have improved steadily. I even went to Hart’s work’s holiday party Tuesday night and had a great, low-pain time. I also met a lot of new people, all of whom were curious about Seattle. Talking about my city was soothing yet heartrending. The next day, I stumbled upon The Place I Love: Songs About Longing, written by someone from Portland who recently moved to New York. Listening to the songs she shared was another bittersweet comfort.
Seattle’s lakes and trees and cranes and Space Needle fill my soul. Even when I didn’t leave the house, the glimpses out the windows cheered me. I didn’t realize how much the city carried me as I struggled with an ever-worsening chronic illness. Moving to Boston was the right choice for Hart and me and I want to make it home while we’re here. But how do I find my place in a city that doesn’t nurture me?