What Easter Means to Me This Year

“Get us some brews.”


*look of expectancy*

“Okay, so it sounded like you just said ‘Temple of Booze’. So I’m hoping you can clear that up for me.”

Temple of booze? I said ‘Get us some brews?'”

*laughing* “Oh, oh. Do you really want one?”

“No I was just saying that. I was actually hoping you’d think I said ‘Temple of Booze’ and we’d have a little back-and-forth. So far, so good.”

This, my dear readers, is why I love being home. My family is extraordinary.

My cousin put it best today.

“I’m convinced that I am biologically related to the only decent people in the world.”

I love living in New York and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I honestly don’t think I could be truly happier anywhere else. But being away from my family leaves this dull ache inside me. Being home eases that ache and fills it with a spark.  I’m bolder and louder.  It’s a side of me that only comes out in spurts when I’m in New York. I’ve only found a few people who bring out this side of me when I’m away from my family.

It’s not that I feel like I can’t be myself in New York.  I’m just a different version of myself.  I like both versions, and they’re not drastically different from one another. It’s a subtle difference that is probably not discernible to anyone but me.

Making people laugh is something that gives me an indescribable high.  I think it has to do with that bias that comes from loving someone unconditionally, but my family finds me entertaining sometimes.  Making them laugh makes me smile from my very core.

For some people, holidays like Easter are about religious tradition. They’re about history and spirituality and prayer.

For me? It’s just about being home.

~ by Valerie Anne on 04/24/2011.

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