Homesick.

Cathartic tears bubbled over and spilled silently and generously down my cheeks. I could taste the salt of the ones that diverted from their path. The light flickered for a few seconds, and the sound seemed to evaporate except for the song coming from my headphones. The train jolted forward before coming to a complete and hasty stop. I stood up when I felt steady and climbed the steps, putting distance from myself and underground. Someone told me, “You’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve cried on the subway.” Well, it looks like I’m a New Yorker. Do I get a welcome party?New York City. It’s the backdrop of almost every coming of age novel. It’s the theme of the award-winning tv shows. It’s the location of all the must-see movies. It doesn’t necessarily need a introduction. It’s the bright lights and the buildings erupting from the concrete. It’s the loud honks of angry drivers, it’s the shouting of tourists, it’s the most envious Instagram photo. Manhattan is overwhelming almost to a breaking point, but the city makes up for it’s flaws. It’s all worth it. This is the American Dream, to feel known and alive in the big city. And I live here. I am the basic coming of age novel. “Small town girl moves to NYC hoping to find herself.” It’s in all the book blurbs out there, and it’s on mine too. If my life were a novel and I was the protagonist of my 23-year-old story, that would be my blurb. That would be the summation of everything I’ve been working towards. But this chapter isn’t all wide-eyed stares, heart fluttering, and adrenaline-filled excitement. It’s also weeping in the bathroom on the phone with my friend who is having a hard time hearing my words through my hiccups. I’m homesick.My life in Birmingham, Alabama was easy and comfortable. I wanted to break free from that. I wanted to challenge myself. I wanted to throw myself into this dream city to find myself, to become dependent on the Lord in the inevitable trials that would come along with moving to a new place alone. I didn’t realize how the feeling of homesickness would ripple through my body like a never ending wave. Homesick is the right word for it, because that’s exactly how I feel. I’m exhausted, sad, and curled up in my bed with a book. The sounds of depressing music float out, and the sounds of life passing by float in through my cracked window. Although I am finally making my dream come true by living in New York City, my heart is longing for the tangible community that I have in Alabama. My homesickness is not for the physical place of Birmingham, but rather for the home and safety and love I have felt in my friends and family. And aren’t we all just actually homesick for something else entirely?I’m homesick for Heaven. I’m homesick for the arms of my Maker. I long to be in His presence for eternity. After these long days when I am drained in every way possible, I realize that I’m not only missing the people that have been placed in my life, but also God - the one that did the placing. Because, deep down, I know the most important way to feel known and alive is not through some big city, but through the Father. He will fill the hole in my heart and the anxiety in my soul. I silently call out to him on the dirty, orange seats of the subway and I whisper His name as I put a hand to my heart on the tile of the bathroom floor. Jesus, I’m homesick.words by Paige Burleson and photo by Arianna TaralsonSaveSaveSaveSave