Home and Away

You’ve no doubt seen this image or another like it many times before. It’s a regular occurrence in my life and one that I’ve come to rely on at the start and finish of certain epochs of my life. It’s generally the same start and finish: Terminal C, Gate 21, Boston Logan Airport. Beyond that, the planes are generally the same; the journey to and from is mostly uneventful, and so it goes.

I’m often asked where I am in the world by people I work with. I hesitate and generally say that I’m at home because, between you and I, home is Ireland and America. Home is where my heart is, which amounts to almost everywhere on this fantastic place we call “Earth.”

Last night’s journey across the Atlantic was as uneventful as it should be, with a few bumps here and there and a strong tailwind. I arrived 30 minutes ahead of schedule, which puts a slight cramp in Emma’s day as we live an hour and a half away from Dublin proper. As my flight landed at 4:50 am, you can imagine the joy of getting up in the middle of the night to slog across the highways to pick up your husband and then return in the same way. I’m grateful for Emma’s patience, that’s for sure, and her longsuffering at this American’s need for transportation.

The irony is, of course, that we live in the middle of Ireland. Not just any middle but within 20km of the geographic center of Ireland. You’d think it’d be highly connected to every region of this great country, yet there are some idiosyncrasies with the travel. For one, there’s no direct route from the airport to here on public transportation. There’s a bus, for sure, but it takes a glacial amount of time to get from there to here, and while cheap, it’s a bit of a kludge. The rail service runs from Dublin, but to get there, you’ll need your wits, a few euros, a bus or taxi, and the patience of St. Brigid herself because it only runs during the hour. So, driving it is.

I say all of this to remind you that being married and living apart from each other across a large body of water requires logistics and a whole lot of love.

As I wrap up the previous day here, fully aware that a lot has happened since these words began their journey from brain to fingers, I am grateful for the affordances of travel, of a love that transcends distance, and the patience of a partner who meets you at the airport at o’dark thirty in her PJs and with a kiss.

May we all be so lucky to find our homes in each other's hearts.

May it ever be so.