A Heart that Lives in New York

Last summer, my dad, who knows my love for New York, sent me a song called "A Heart in New York" by Art Garfunkel. I immediately fell in love with this song. It's even playing on repeat as I type in honor of this post.

My favorite part of the song is when it mentions Central Park. Central Park is quite possibly my favorite place in the world. I can't describe the love I have for that place. There's something about sitting on a grassy field with people talking and laughing doing their own thing while being surrounded by skyscrapers all around. It's a place you can escape from the hustle and bustle of the city and just be. It's peaceful. I'm not talking peaceful as in quiet but peaceful as in comforting.

Central Park is somewhere everyone can belong. There's baseball games, frisbee and soccer. There's people out for picnics and friends hanging out on the grass. You see the moms out with their kids in strollers enjoying afternoon walks. You have the joggers and bikers who pass on by the tourists while listening to their music. There's couples enjoying romantic boat rides on the lake and children playing at the water's edge. There's the playground and the zoo. Everything! Even the bum from the subway and the beggar from 42nd Street find a place in Central Park. Nobody is out of place in Central Park. Everyone belongs.

I don't know why I feel so out of place in this world. I don't say this in pitiful or whiney way. I say it as a fact. A truth. I think a lot of kids that grew up with parents in the military can relate. There's not a set place called "home" and, if there is, it's not the same kind of home that everyone else pictures.

Home is the place you can always go back to. It's the place where everyone knows you and you feel welcome. It's the place where your family is. It's where you gather for holidays, birthdays and unbirthdays, too. It's the place that remains constant in your life. You feel at home there. For me, that place is New York...or at least I think it is.

I constantly feel torn between calling Germany my home and calling New York my home. New York is where I had my first steps, my first birthdays, and my first school days. It's the place I learned to be a person. Germany is where I became that person. New York has my childhood but Germany shaped me. New York has my whole family but Germany has my parents. New York has the places I feel comfortable but Germany has the places where I learned life's hardest lessons. I'm thoroughly grateful for the opportunity I have had to live in Germany but I'm not sure I'd call it home even though I've lived a majority of my life there.

I'm always talking about how much I love Germany but I think I say that automatically because I feel like I have to love Germany. It's been "home" for so long. I do love it but I don't think I love it as a home. When I see pictures of New York, I get a gut wrenching feeling of homesickness. I don't get that same feeling when I see pictures of Germany.

I guess I kind of wish that I could have both. Or maybe my home will be where I finally settle down and raise my own kids with my prince charming in our humble abode. Wherever and whenever that may be. Until then, I'll bounce around from home to home visiting those I love and the places I know best.

Now that I've explained my love affair with New York and Germany, listen to this song. It's pretty great.