Boston: My Home, My Heart

I’ve lived so many places and never loved any of them as I love Boston. It’s hard to say why this place just feels right. Maybe it’s the air, maybe it’s the people, maybe it’s the spirit of the town. If you told me I would be writing this over a year ago, I probably would have laughed because I hated this place then. Just when I was starting to admit I might actually like it here, the Boston bombings happened.

I haven’t written about that here because I didn’t know how to put into words what I felt that week. I still don’t know. I lived for three years in New York City, one time just blocks away from where the World Trade Centers well on September 11th. But I didn’t feel then what I feel now for my city.

Seeing the places where I live my life get terrorized was shattering for a period of time. Near the marathon finish line where I spent summer afternoons in the nearby green space, the Target I went to at least once a week, the subway stop I got off at work every day. One town over getting shot up by police and terrorists.

After everything that happened that week, I fell in love with Boston.

I remember standing in a bar in Pennsylvania the day after they caught the bombers and “Sweet Caroline” came on and I almost lost it. No one around me was having the moment I was, the moment for my city.

Once I fell in love, I started to open up. I was more genuine with everyone and found in return that they were more genuine with me. I’ve never felt like I could be myself any place that I’ve lived. Not in South Carolina, not in Pennsylvania, not in New York. Not anywhere. But here.

I surprised myself yet again last week when I cried after the Red Sox won the World Series. I cried for my city, I cried for my team and I cried because I felt overwhelming joy. And I used to hate baseball, and I mean hate. This Saturday, I’ll be heading out to the parade to celebrate the Red Sox victory. I’ll be buying my first Red Sox hat, too.

For years, I would say, “I’m going home,” and I would mean to Pennsylvania and my parents’ home. Now when I say, “I’m going home,” I always mean home to Boston. My home, my heart.

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