Monday, March 3, 2014

Home Boy

The Missus, Joe and I spent an incredibly enjoyable and relaxing week doing a whole lot of nothing on Grand Bahama Island.  I did a lot of running on the beach.  I read a couple of books - and would recommend to anyone who can read both "Wooden:  A Coach's Life" by Seth Davis and "Lone Survivor" by Marcus Luttrell.  Two distinctly different works of non-fiction.  Both of them will add something to your life if you read them.  I know they did for me. 

I was born in New Jersey.  Other than four years spent "studying" at the University of Colorado in Boulder and approximately a dozen or so childhood summers that I spent at Mom/Dad's summer house at Harvey's Lake, Pennsylvania, I have lived the entirety of my life in New Jersey.  I have every expectation that I shall die here.  I presume that the final act shall not likely occur nearly quickly enough to satisfy some....including countless who know me well.

As our flight began its final approach to Newark Airport on Saturday evening and I gazed out the window at the industrial landscape of northern New Jersey that has been a part of my day-to-day for most of my adult life, I smiled.  I know not what it says about me that I know nothing about art and yet can identify New Jersey highways - both major and minor - from several thousand feet overhead simply by catching a glimpse of them out of the window of a descending airplane.  I reckon it is nothing positive.  I reckon as well that I shall survive the negative connotation. 

I have a number of friends who have migrated from New Jersey to points beyond the geographic boundaries of the State of Concrete Gardens with great success, both personal and professional.  I have every hope that they shall continue to enjoy it.  Me?  I am doing just fine thank you living where I am living and doing what it is I am doing.  I have lived all over Jersey during the four and one half-plus decades of my life.  I never once attended school in the town in which I lived.  I have spent the past two-plus decades in a town to which I have no attachment whatsoever.  In the not-too-distant future - if everything goes according to Hoyle - the postal code will be forty-five minutes or so further south of where we are presently live.  Candidly, having spent close to a half-century writing "N/A" in response to the question "Hometown" on too many applications and forms to count I doubt that shall change regardless of where our house shall be.   

I do know the state in which it shall be located however.  It is in my DNA.  Cannot shake it.  No matter where I roam, I know where home is for me. 

Same as it ever was. 


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