On a Jet Plane
March 19, 2007
(written on the 12-hour flight to Seoul)
Making a home, a beautiful, comfortable home, only to leave it soon after seems cruelly akin to snatching a newly-given gift from the hands of an exuberant child. Perhaps I am being melodramatic, but I do not exaggerate my up-down feelings of luck followed by loss. I had settled my feathers neatly into a lofty San Francisco nest, yet am now disturbed quite rudely into flapping my wings (ok, the airplane’s wings, and they don’t flap) across the Pacific to South Korea. I’d be squawking all the way, too, like a pissed-off Canadian goose, if it weren’t for my excellent sense of decorum and and respect for the authority of flight attendants.
The truth is, I suffer from Grass-is-Greener Syndrome, the kind that spawns wishes of that mythical cake that is to be both had and eaten, too. The lush, sunny grass of the Marina, flowing with the foot-traffic of joggers and Frisbee-ers, and with the Golden Gate rising behind it certainly seems green to me now, especially compared with the prospect of a frigidly cold Korea. Yet the prospect of staying put makes me claustrophobic, anxious that the world is out there living without me seeing it!
Andy and I have a fresh new studio on Fillmore Street, the vibrant hub of a neighborhood full of yuppies (Aaah! Could I be counted among their ranks?!) and the bars, cafes, gyms, and trendy shops that cater to them. Our rooftop view is a generous one - basically all of San Francisco's waterfront spendor, with a fog-topped Golden Gate, an ominous Alcatraz, and the Palace of Fine Arts' dome glowing like a yolk, sunny-side-up. After months of crashing on relatives' couches (for which we are eternally grateful), we relish the privacy, the space, the chance to make it uniquely ours.
I will settle in to life in Korea, the homesickness will subside as it always eventually does. I have come by now to realize the cycle of arrival and departure, and all the associated emotions that follow closely like hayfever clings to Spring. But now, at least, there is a closet where my left-behind clothes hang, a bed that's truly mine, a shelf full of my books, and my best friend awaiting my return.
Coming soon: Meg in Korea!
