Where the Heart is or is Not?
With the unexpected influx of perfect strangers to Brooklyn, New York over the last ten years, my childhood neighborhood has remained my early-adult-hood as well, making family Thanksgiving festivities and birthday celebrations an easy Sunday afternoon activity (8 minutes by car, 40 minutes on foot, to the other end of Park Slope), comparable to a stroll through Prospect Park or a chick flick at The Pavillion. Through and through, I am a New Yorker in heart and soul, with little doubt that a relocation to Portland/Austin/Chicago/SanFrancisco could fulfill the same sense of comfort and familiarity that I've associated with my Brooklyn upbringing. And, yet, with this influx of naive and entitled transplants (you'd be bitter, too) came an unaffordable future without the luxuries - a backyard, a house, a country house - that I've always taken for granted. And so, here I am, forced to reevaluate my concept of 'home-sweet-home,' only moderately resentful of the folks who stole my coffeeshops/videostores/playgrounds/libraries, in order to find a potential alternative that will, no doubt, include square footage specifically set aside for relocated family holidays and month-long-visits from my 'rents. Enjoy!
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