When I left my adopted hometown of New York City years ago, I flew back once a month for almost a year, weaning myself not only from friends, but from the city itself and the love-hate relationship I’d had with it for fourteen years.
In the years that passed, the mythic status of the city pulled at my memory, but actual visits reminded me of her aspects that had made it unlivable for me – noise, dirt, rents higher than my income could afford.
Then all of a sudden, on this last visit, I felt I was home again, not exactly loving the problematic aspects, but feeling that it was all intensely, exquisitely familiar. Familiar in a deep way that gave me great pleasure.
I knew where I was going and how to get there. Faces seemed recognizable. One lovely morning, there was nothing more pleasurable than walking down Seventh Avenue by myself, noting new stores, smiling at old ones that were still around.
I arrived at my former workplace, St. Vincent Hospital My chest felt the pain of the closing of this institution that struggled for years in its mission to serve the indigent and working poor.
I welcomed each feeling, because painful and pleasurable as they were, they reflected my presence in the world, they reminded me of who I am – an intensely emotional human being with the power to be sensitive to the things of life without feeling overwhelmed by them. For me, that’s a learned skill.
During earlier visits, I might have felt overcome with the deep feelings of being in the place where I spent fourteen formative years. Now, the experience reminded me that I’m whole. I enjoyed the night lights,
the celebratory reason for our visit, ,
the shadows on the buildings from the circling earth
and new places I’d never had a chance to see before. 
What does this experience have to do with becoming and staying a resilient writer? Probably not coincidentally, it’s time for me to separate from my work-in-progress for awhile. There’s sadness there – I get so much pleasure from working on it.
And yet the sadness doesn’t make the experience a negative one. As with my relationship to New York City, there’s a time for leaving. When I re-visit my manuscript in the fall, it will be a return to the old familiar places, but with new eyes.
Leaving and returning? The intensity and mix of emotions make it a positively meaningful event – for writing, and for life.
Carol, I hope the separation is rich and bountiful on many levels. Will you be working on another writing project while taking space from your WIP?
Absolutely! In fact I have several projects lining themselves up for my time, including revising an older novel by rewriting it in verse.
Thanks for responding!