on My Way Home

We hosted a dinner party this past week. We, as in my housemates and I, and it was lovely. Lovely because the intention of moving into a house with three strangers was to take a more active role in building my community and feeling at home in Los Angeles. It's working.
And yet, looking back to September, when I left Paris for London for L.A. (I flew out of Heathrow), I felt the magnitude of this this truth: “You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.” A beautiful, melancholic sentiment as articulated by Miriam Adeney.
That night, I ventured out into the drizzle to meet my sister for Indian. I hadn't been happy with how we'd left things before Amsterdam so I wanted to make amends... as well as enjoy familial company on the last night of my "EuroTrip". Fast forward to present day and we just had the most warm and light conversation. She landed in New York late last night, closing her own collegiate study abroad experience.
When I started recapping these twelve days I spent with family and friends in London, The Hague, Amsterdam, and Paris, I described the trip as "hard, and long, and so freaking good"; the same could be said of this past season in Los Angeles. Ironically or not, I've never been so ready for a year to end nor so eager for a new one to begin. By the way, also, have I mentioned Marie is visiting in January? It's funny, I think, how people and places intersect, how we're able to better understand--or rather, appreciate--both through the lens of the other.