The Journey Home

Several summers ago, while the girls and I were scrapbooking in China, we happened upon a quote by a famous Chinese writer who was best known for his compilations and translations of classic Chinese texts into English. The quote went something like this: "No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow." (Lin Yutang)

This little quote gave the girls (then 8 and 11) a sense of ease about their own natural longings for home, even while we were all enjoying new and exciting adventures far away. There was always "going home" to look forward to, and somehow that made the journey all the more enjoyable.

Certainly, one of the best decisions Chris and I ever made was to keep our home upstate in New York. No matter where our travels take us, no matter how long we're away or how soon we'll again depart, it's the haven we come home to, a place where we can rest our head on an old, familiar pillow. The air is so clean and fresh here, the pace is slow and easy, the people are friendly and open, and the view from our deck is green, peaceful and quiet. My friend, Lisa, once said sitting on our deck during a summer rainstorm "is so Zen!" - the perfect Buddhist description of what is, for us, a classic American scenario!

When we still had our tiny apartment on the East Side in Manhattan, we used to split our time between the city and our home upstate, often flying into JFK when we first arrived home from our long stints in China. It was always exciting and energizing to fly directly into NYC from Asia - a blast of civilization after so many months in the industrializing and developing cities of China. The pace was fast and furious, as always, and the city dared us not to give into our debilitating jet lag. If there was ever a reminder that we were home, it was joining the throngs crowding the sidewalks during the bone-chilling cold of the Christmas rush in Times Square, or fighting snarls of traffic as we, along with thousands of other sweltering New Yorkers, fled the city on summer weekends. Yes, it was always energizing, and always equally exhausting.

Now, having relinquished our tiny NYC flat, we fly directly into our small town upstate and find we're reenergized in a different and perhaps healthier way. Reluctantly we admit, after eight years (nine for Chris), the crush of industrializing China has taken its toll on us, and we find returning to the peaceful, quiet serenity of our home on the hill is a much preferred alternative to facing the immediate frenzy of NYC, another overcrowded, polluted, albeit much-beloved urban center. Here we can drink in the air, listen to the birds, bask in the quiet, watch the deer and wild turkeys wander in our back yard, and re-energize our souls in the most essential way.

Far, far away from the frenetic pace of China, there's no worry here on the hill about the food or water, no environmental hazards to watch out for, no TV channels we can't watch, no websites we can't access, no magazines we can't buy. There are no travel documents required, no taxis to hail, no language barriers to negotiate, no food you can't find, no roaming cell phone charges, no time change, and no one in the States you can't call when you just feel like picking up the phone in the middle of the afternoon.

This is home, a place to leap off from and a place to which we return. And no matter where the road might take us, there will never be a journey so great as the journey home.