When I get back to the States after a long time away, I'm often struck with all kinds of conflicting emotions. My first visit to a grocery store always overwhelms me, the bountiful variety making me feel borderline guilty, claustrophobic, disgusted. Somehow, I always end up in a mall, where I'm inundated with consumerism and fed up with the monotonous assortment of the same unnecessary stuff in different packages. There's the guy who went on a ridiculously profane and aggressive rant when employees told him he couldn't ride his bike through T.J. Maxx. There's the weird same-ness of neighborhoods as you drive around anywhere.
Then I'm having a drink and great conversation with friends and family at the Dirty Goose in the U-Street Corridor, followed by a decent Ethiopian meal at Dukem. I'm playing board games with adults and cooking food we got down the street, without once going through a guarded gate. I'm getting an eye exam from a friendly older couple. I haven't seen an automatic weapon since I've been here. And last night I end up at Wolf Trap's beautiful Filene Center watching an all male ballet troupe satirize Swan Lake sitting with a tarp full of people I can't easily categorize talking about internationally-themed dinner parties and I feel a welling-up of something that's not patriotism but is probably as close as I ever get to it. It's nice to be home.
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