The Boss stayed with my parents this weekend while The Partner and I went up to his old fraternity house. The Partner helped make repairs to the old brownstone mansion (yes, it's a historical treasure, and yes, it's a long, long story how it ended up housing college-aged males year after year). If you are wondering about the extent of its Victorian grandeur, I will say that a few scenes from the movie Age of Innocence were filmed there.
After a day of work, we went out for dinner and then to the old watering hole, wherein we re-enacted the days of yore by getting completely blotto. Who says you can't go home? It was almost like being just-twenty, except that nobody carded us and, if they had, we would've been able to show non-fabricated ID.
The next morning we continued to uphold tradition by calming our roiling stomachs with grease at the breakfast spot two blocks over. There is nothing like a fat omelette after a night of bourbon and Coke. Absolutely nothing. I was giddy with reality in the form of nostalgia.
Today I turn 29. I am home again and will soon be picking up The Boss from her grandparents'. Tomorrow the grind will again be set to daily. I'm content.
It's easy to go back to college for a weekend and to remember the good times. But I know myself better than that. I know that even then I was never satisfied. I could never live in the moment.
I am finally starting to appreciate now. That, I think, is what may very well make these the best years of my life. I didn't take for granted our weekend trip, or the winding ride back through the Hudson River Valley with its quiet, northeastern splendor. The Partner and I came home to a place I am astonished to call ours. I talked for awhile on the phone to a friend I've had since elementary school. After that, I fell asleep right away in a fluffed-out bed beneath a ceiling fan.
I'm not chasing after something like I have been for my entire life. That doesn't mean I've stopped moving, it just means I'm finally at a speed where I can catch the scenery.