Last weekend I went to New Jersey for my college roommate’s wedding. While traveling via taxi to her home for pictures, the driver and I started talking about life. There’s no one more qualified to handle your personal affairs then a taxi driver (or bartender)—and I mean that with sincerity. We chatted about “the bigger picture” and doing things while you can. Carpe Diem and all that jazz. I told him about my new life in London and how sometimes I love it and other times I wish I were home. I told him that looking back on this past year I feel like I’ve been away forever, yet it’s only been 12 months. But is not 12 months a long time? I think another few minutes on the road and we would’ve defined the meaning of life.
During this deep conversation, with someone I’d just met, I ate my egg sandwich and watched the Jersey Turnpike blur by. It was the perfect metaphor for how I was feeling. There I was on my way to my friend’s wedding, remembering how nearly 8 years ago we said goodbye to Monmouth University on our rainy graduation day. My college experience was such a pivotal part of my life, something I’d been preparing for since I was 16, and now it’s just a distancing memory. As London will someday be, too. In the words of my cab driver, “It’s the days that go by slowly, but the years that go by so fast.”
I could go on and on about the irony of it all, but philosophy and time flying aside, there’s a wedding in Jersey to talk about! Of all the places in the world, I was ecstatic when our flight arrived at Newark Liberty airport. Not only because I was back in the Motherland, but also because we actually made it there alive. Before we left, our flight experienced technical difficulties, the luggage door couldn’t shut, our personal TVs were broken (causing us to miss the cartoon version of the safety procedures) and we saw a plane engulfed in flames as we lifted off the runway. It’s funny how fast a non-religious person remembers God.
But alas, we made it and I’ve come to love hearing, “Welcome home” at customs. It’s as if the security guards are even happy to see us. It was a breath of fresh air to be amongst old friends and family again. To be in a place where people knew our names. I felt like Norm walking into Cheers everywhere I went. Mostly because everywhere I went things were familiar. The NY-style pizza, the glittering city skyline, the Greek diners along the highway, the wacky 5 o’clock whistle on Z100. It’s those little pieces of your former life that you start to miss when you’re away. Those things that you take for granted or even those things that start to annoy you (please reference 5 o’clock whistle) that suddenly feel like a warm embrace when you go back home.
We did, however, bring a bit of London to the States in the form of our Bikram practice, dragging my dad along for the ride. Having never tried it in the US, we thought it would be the perfect opportunity to give it a go. It was a great session and my dad was able to endure the 105-degree heat like a champ. One Bikram class and pizza pie later, and we were off to Kristen and Steve’s rehearsal followed by what we would consider a real Italian dinner. Though many would disagree, there’s no better place to find Italian food than North Jersey.
The following morning, I woke before the sun to get ready for the wedding. My mom did my makeup and drove me to a nearby salon for my hair appointment. While I love Jerseylicious, I wasn’t exactly thrilled by the teased out up-do I left with. And by “not exactly thrilled” I mean red-faced and near tears, muttering something about alien antennas. The directions: pin half back, leave the rest in soft curls. The result: a feathery tease, jumbo “prom” curls and a bunch of random twists. I was ready for an interview at Area 51. The hair lasted through the 5-minute car ride and was quickly transformed into a simple down-do thanks to my mom’s deft fingers and crafty pick work.
In short, the wedding was beautiful. We danced until our feet hurt. Ate well. Fought over the plated cannolis. And partied like rock stars. After which we went home to catch the Mayweather/Ortiz Pay-Per-View fight. (Comments on this controversial fight are welcome below.)
By Sunday, I was holding back tears as we boarded our flight to London. Not that I was sad about returning, but I was sad about leaving home. When I first left New York on September 25, 2010, I was so excited I didn’t so much as shed a tear. These days, I depart fully aware of what I’m leaving behind. No longer taking things for granted. Not even that damn “Friday” chant on the radio. On the flip side, I still have one more year of adventure, vacations and summer Olympics to come. So now I look ahead to a fun-filled future. And this year, when things go awry, I will heed the words of my adopted home and try my best to “Keep Calm and Carry On."
