We move out of D.C. this week. Being in this state of transition has me investigating what it means to “miss” something, in this era where so much is fleeting. I’ve had best friends move away from me, and I’ve done the same in return. I’ve moved out of countless homes, and out of just as many cities. I’ve grown accustomed to traveling to new places, making friends within a few days, and then saying goodbye not knowing if I’ll ever see them again. A seven-year stretch in D.C. is, of course, more profound than a seven-day trip somewhere. But what is it about something lasting long that makes me feel like it should last longer? Does the longevity of an experience convince us that it is more deserving of permanence?
I’ll of course miss my friends here, even though I’ll probably continue seeing them once every couple of months. I’ll miss my apartment, but even in the past few weeks of packing up, it no longer looks or feels like home anyway. Home is not made of one’s objects, but it is in the curation of them. With all my things tucked away in boxes, I also feel tucked away in a box.
I’ll miss my routines. My bike route, even the part where I sneer at the White House and grumble at the waddling tourists. I’ll miss going to Hana market to pick up onigiri, Firehook to pick up an olive loaf. But even that’s just empty carbs. The life I’d supposedly miss will still be with me, if not revisited often then encapsulated in memory of my D.C. years.
We’re not living in the times of covered wagons and the Pony Express, where “so long” actually meant such, when embarking a few hundred miles away meant you were leaving a life behind for good. I have the great luxury of knowing I’ll be back, that not being here daily doesn’t mean that I won’t be here forever. I carry the experiences of this city in my bones, and it’ll be with me everywhere I go.