Wednesday, July 14, 2021

Wildfire

 

The day I told my father I would not be returning home to Jamaica after I graduated college, he cried. I was on my winter break of senior year, and only one semester stood between me and a life chosen solely by me, in a place of my own dreaming. In truth, I'd first dreamed of moving to New York the summer our family visited my Aunt Winnie and Uncle Charlie there when I was five years old. More than dreaming it, I actively chose it that year, touring the steamy city in my navy blue jersey shorts and navy and white striped top, the unstructured material bunching and riding up on my chubby little body in ways that clothes never misbehaved on the slim graceful girls back home. 

But New York didn't care. It didn't judge me, or even notice me to be honest. It just folded me in with a weary sigh, another soul projecting onto its teeming streets her own wildfire dreams. At the time I wanted to be an artist. I imagined painting large canvasses in a drafty loft downtown. By the end of college, I had chosen writing instead. I intended to do a master's in journalism at Columbia and get myself a job at a magazine afterward. That did happen. I rushed headlong into my future without understanding my father's tears, his sense that the world he'd envisioned was not to be, that his raising of me was at an end. I broke his heart, but he never accused me. He only turned his head away and walked out the room blindly, bumping into my grandfather's ship of a desk on the way. I wish I could have that moment back, and be less selfish in it. I wish I hadn't defiantly declared myself, heading off any argument, but rather told him more gently and held his hand. I am a mother now, and there is so much more that I understand.

Now, after four decades of being a New Yorker, I do occasionally wonder why I wanted so badly to leave my birth land, the place where I found welcome on the other side of any door I entered. I recognize now that the attention people paid to me as a child, which I felt as censure and judgment, had everything to do with how I felt about myself, and not much to do with how they felt about me. I now see my mother's church-hatted friends clucking over me after Sunday services, remarking on how fat I was, as simply their way of enfolding me in community, of performing that I belonged. Belatedly, I recall that they praised my good grades in school and artistic talent, too, and hugged me vigorously to their bosoms and pinched my cheeks. But I was never anonymous there, and I wanted to be. I thought it would mean freedom.

I did find the reinvention I sought in New York City, and I also met my husband here. Perhaps I would have met him anyway, as my parents by then had moved from Jamaica to Antigua, the island where he was born. Still, I met him here when I was already working as a reporter for the monthly reincarnation of Life magazine. Our decision therefore was that rather than me giving up a job with some prospects to live on an island that didn't have a daily newspaper, his skills as a biologist were more transferable, and so he would move to New York. Who would our children be if they hadn't been born here, been raised by us here, encountered the particular people who shaped their lives here? It's hard to argue with what is, and yet lately, when I see photos of the spectacular beauty of my birthplace, I find myself as heartbroken as my father was the day I told him I would not be moving back home. And I wonder if I still belong.



14 comments:

  1. Such a haunting, lyrical description of roads taken and choices made. You were strong even as a young adult, leaving everything and starting in a new place of your considered choosing. Sometimes I go down these thought paths, too, but always come back to feeling that everything I did made me the person I am today. I hope that as life returns more toward normal you feel more settled.

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  2. We moved - a lot. My Dad's job took us from state to state. When I was a kid, I moved with them. When I was in college, they moved away from me. I don't have anywhere that feels like home, and I wish I did. Kudos to the husband for uprooting to New York, your lives seem all the richer for it.

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  3. This is such a heart-tugging description of how we become our adult selves. We move on. We embark on journeys with visions of our future. I always hope that our parents understood that passion. Where or who would I be if my grandparents didn't leave Germany in 1921? We are the result of choices made long ago. Thank you for writing this and making me think of this path we take and what it means in so many ways. Thank you.

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  4. And that is how it is with youngin's and their parents. You tell it so beautifully, your words nestle right in there next to my heart that breaks on a daily basis. You so did the right thing, Your husband So did the right thing- just look at your children! Success!

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  5. I think as we enter into this "post-Covid" thing, we are at loose ends. Also, we are entering this weird world altered not just by age but by -- well -- unprecedented weirdness. You've written so beautifully here about the EXACT feeling I have, although your circumstances, life, identity are so dramatically different. Mary Moon wrote something tonight as well that jarred me -- or resonated with me.

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  6. I have been thinking a lot about places that call to us as a home and places that do not. Jessie asked me why and when I fell in love with Cozumel and I told her the best I could how it came to pass. And then I thought about the weeks I'd spent in the Smokey mountains as a child and at camps and how although I loved them and appreciated the beauty, I never once thought to myself then or any other time in my life- I would love to live there.
    I agree with Elizabeth that this post-Covid period is making us all take a step back, ponder what it is we really want to do with the rest of our lives. And where.
    And perhaps why.

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  7. We moved from Ontario and everything I knew, to Alberta when I was eight years old. It was too much for eight year old me and I couldn't cope. I felt like I lost everything. When I was old enough to go to University, I didn't even want to leave Red Deer but Edmonton and Calgary were too big and scary for me. I finally left because there were no nursing jobs in Red Deer at the time but I didn't want to go.

    I want to be a photographer when I was younger but I was too scared to even try. I looked at the courses in University and felt overwhelmed. I settled for nursing instead and I'm not sorry I did but I do wonder what I would have done if I hadn't been so afraid of the world.

    I think part of getting older is looking back at our lives, looking at patterns and decisions, trying to make sense of it all. I wonder if my desire to stay close to home comes from having a mum who left everything and everybody in England to come to Canada. Who knows?

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  8. Congrats! You made your dream come true. Not many can say that. Often life changes our plans and we end up living a life we hadn't imagined!

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  9. Perhaps if your husband retires you can once again return to the island life periodically. He now has the more rooted job of the two of you and with your kids close by, there is much to think about. Roots and wings.

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  10. What a beautiful post. I left New York in 1980 (upstate). My oldest friend still lives in Syracuse and we talk and occasionally visit. I feel the pull of that city but I've become a West coast resident for sure after all this time. My kids are here, my brother is here, even my ex is here. My tiny slice of this Earth is my home where I water the garden, swim in the big lake, hike in the mountains and fear for the future of all of it. Pandemic, climate change, loved ones too far away...what is important?

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  11. I agree that this is beautiful, poignant post. I left NY for Florida in 1973. Every time I visit I feel the pull and still consider myself a New Yorker. Now that I’m so much older I’ve often thought of moving back. I feel so ambivalent about Florida, rich natural beauty that allows me to grow orchids and tropical fruits but an evil governor, a bevy of 45 supporters and the ever present “Florida Man”. Makes me want to scream sometimes. Your writing is so lovely, I could feel your emotions.
    Xoxo
    Barbara

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  12. I think it's human nature for a young person to want to break away from their parents, and sometimes they feel the need to do so in a no-nonsense, declarative way. It's just the age. It's also normal to look back later and think, "Did I need to be so harsh?"

    I basically told my mom when I was 18 that I was getting my own apartment, and she let me do it -- but I wasn't leaving town, so that was an easier situation.

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  13. such a moving post. your life and experience so different from mine. I've lived all my life in basically the same place, all but most of one year in Texas and all but most of another year in the big city of Houston, until we moved out here, an hour away. so I've never really 'left home'. I imagine Jamaica would wrap you in its arms just like New York did. my daughter moved out the day after she graduated from high school but just to another part of town. my own leaving from my parent's control was fraught with struggle. but that's a long story.

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  14. We each have a path and all the emotions that go with that path. I'd say your path has been pretty wonderful. Career, great husband and 2 wonderful children on great paths. Maybe a second home on the island is in your future.

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