I’ve been in Atlanta for the past 36 hours or so, and today I had a chance to swing by our old house. I felt no nostalgia, no longing. I didn’t experience the uncanny either. It was just a house.
It’s not as though I am immune to nostalgia. Goodness knows I can get sentimental. But for whatever reason–I felt nothing as I wondered through the empty rooms.
The same thing driving around my neighborhood, and past stores and supermarkets and other places that were such a part of my daily routines in Atlanta.
It seems all that I have here that roots me to this area in any way are the people who still live here. Other than that, there isn’t much left in this city that binds me to this place.
It’s a bit odd to think that after more than two decades in this city I could uproot so easily.
Is it me, or the place? Or perhaps this place never was a place for me.
I’m not too sure exactly what that last sentence means, so perhaps I will just leave it at that.