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At least once a week I accidentally pull up our old address in CT on my GPS. Our house number is the same as one of my office locations. I repeatedly push "cancel," but I'm usually too late and the route sits there for a moment, three hours away.

I am caught off guard every time it happens. I feel a pang. It isn't regret. It isn't sadness. It is more like an acknowledgement of how far we used to be from the streets I drive each day, how foreign all of this was just a short time ago. I stare at the route for a moment and then re-navigate to my office. Just like that, Connecticut is behind me again, and I'm cruising once again through the Pru tunnel. In 2001, we drove that tunnel every weekend to go from Brighton to the beach. I was always taken back by the startling view, the city right there above, beside, all around me. It was a different vantage point then my pedestrian view. I still get that home feeling when I drive the Pike through the city, or head north on 93 and pass the gas tank, or even down the street on Route 1 when I crest that hill and the city is silhouetted there in the distance against the clouds. That GPS makes me realize the journey we have taken, all that has happened, changed, and remains the same. It makes me nostalgic for what was, in some ways, an easier time.  I set my course to a place most days I avoid going to if at all possible. It will happen again, in a week's time or less and I cannot help but think there must be some cosmic reason this address remains in "recent destinations" over two years later.

1 comment:

  1. Funny how you want Connecticut to remain in your rear-view mirror and I desperately want to move back there!

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