Homesick

On the 10th floor of Hotel Paso Del Norte, I sat in the lounge chair by the pool, staring out at dusty desert mountains, and slow moving, not crowded streets and highways. Everything was in slow motion. The desert breeze worked its way through the atmosphere, but outside of that, everything was still.

This was a scene that was familiar to me. The stillness of the desert is one of its underrated qualities. There are no trees swaying. No leaves rustling underfoot. No waves splashing.

All I was doing was thinking. Thinking about how I missed this view. From my backyard. From another poolside recliner. Drying off under the arid strong sun.

I felt the longing for this view and this moment.

The imagery and descriptors are one thing – the way I felt was another. When anyone asks me where I’m from, I always say Arizona. Sometimes Tucson, but always Arizona.

When other people introduce me to their peers, I am “from New York”. Or live in New York. I’m the guy from New York. But the thing is, I’m not. Tucson and New York are very different places and sit on opposite ends of the hypotenuse of our country 2,500 miles away from each other. So when people hear that I’m from New York and assume whatever they assume about what that means it bothers me to the core. They don’t realize I grew up playing tennis in 125 degree heat. They don’t realize I would play hide and seek tag in the desert, sprinting through desert brush and cacti to race to the garage without my friend seeing. They don’t realize one of my favorite things growing up was swimming laps in the pool, and then air-drying in that poolside recliner, absolutely baking, and usually talking to my parents.

Going to El Paso, where coincidentally I went as a teenager several times to play tennis tournaments, reminded me of those feelings. And for the first time in my 35 years, I got home sick. I live in the biggest city in the country and work part-time in the second biggest city in the country (I don’t consider LA a city because of how sprawling it is). I deal with brutal cab drivers (I can name on one hand how many times I have taken a cab in Tucson), crowded subway cars, dirty subway stations, some crazies, and everything in between. So I guess it finally got to me. A feeling that I never understood or believed in happened that weekend (my parents were always half forcing me out of the house in a very healthy way: for sports, for school, for jobs, etc.). Because for just a second, I remembered what it was like to just relax. Bask in the sunlight. Think. Breathe.

I’m not some type A East Coast NYC born and bred person always walking fast with something to do. I’m a humble, laid-back, sensitive kid from Tucson. And I miss those mountains. I miss that sun. And I miss the quiet.