With each passing day, my roots are planted more firmly here in the city. There’s the pull of the family members I get to be close to by living here, the church in which I am becoming more invested, the people I have met, and the people I wonder if I have yet to meet. And yet… with each passing day, I feel a greater desire to uproot myself. The city feels stifling, the cars outside my window wake me up at night, and when I wake up in the morning, all I can see is apartment buildings stretching in every direction. When I wake up, I want to see trees and birds and the uninterrupted sky outside my window.
I grew up in New Hampshire, in a town where you could drive 5 miles in 10 minutes, and while that felt limiting at times, now that I am so far from that life, I find myself missing it. I miss the relative silence, the view from my parent’s back porch, the yard encircled with trees, and the complete and utter lack of stoplights. I can count on both hands the number of stoplights in my town, and at least one of them didn’t even exist until we had lived in the town for ten years. I go through that number in a mile driving here in the city.
It’s hard to pinpoint what it is about city life that makes me want to move away, and what it is about city life that makes me want to stay. I am not likely to make any huge changes until I figure that out, but I am beginning to wonder if my days in the city are numbered.