Since the bombings at the Boston Marathon, I have sat down in front of my keyboard quite a few times. I wanted to write something. Something eloquent and expressive that evoked just how I was feeling.

But it has proven pretty difficult to do.

That first post, the day after; I intended to elaborate. To express my overwhelming gratitude to the people who took action that day. Condolences to the victims and their families who are suffering from this absolutely senseless tragedy.

I wanted to articulate just how very thankful and humbled I am for this life.

But with every key stroke, the words became a bit more blurry and the story increasingly convoluted and I just...couldn't. I was a mess. So I thought, again, I would write something that Friday for my Faves column that I often do.

But then I awoke to find my city on lockdown that day, and making any commentary about this chaotic tale as it continued to unfurl seemed inappropriate.

And so now, two and a half weeks have gone by. I have cooked. I have photographed. I am typing this without salty tears gracing my lips. I have started to carry on.

But I still feel it so necessary to write about it. And not just about the tragedy, but the absolute, staggering love I have for this city. It has been said by so many in the past few weeks, but after a lifetime in Massachusetts and eleven years in the "Bean", it really couldn't ring more true: Boston, you're my home.






We were in Chicago for Matt's birthday a few weekends back. When we fly Southwest from Midway, we almost always hop the last (cheapest) flight out, landing back here at Logan around midnight. Although it's definitely feasible to work the next day, I knew we'd be exhausted, so we both requested Monday off as well.

"Oh," I mentioned to Matty as we were booking, "that's Marathon Monday, too. So, sweet."

We had figured we would sleep in and then meander into the city, the first nice Spring day in a long time. I have always worked on Marathon Monday, so I hadn't "properly" enjoyed the holiday since college--properly, of course, consisting of day drinking and cheering people on. I was excited.

But Matt's birthday party that previous Saturday was a crazy night and, back in Dorchester with the dog in our bed on Monday, it was too good to leave. We decided to stay at our place and enjoy a day off at home. I headed to the grocery store to replenish our empty fridge and invited a couple of friends over.

As I was shopping, my best friend texted me "Explosions at Copley? WTF?"
I immediately called my dad to let my parents know we hadn't gone into town after all. He hadn't heard the news yet, but told me to leave the grocery store and get home. I kept searching for chipotle peppers in adobo.

I continued to text my friends--what was a group message of jokes and beer requests swiftly turned to confusion and updates about friends in Back Bay's wellbeing. My dad called me back.

"Take whatever is in your cart and go back to your house," he said sternly.
And then, "Al. I'm not joking. I love you."

I remember it vividly. People in Stop and Shop beginning to gossip a hushed tones about what they had heard. It was happening in real time and no one knew what was accurate. I walked outside and the sirens rushing down Mass Ave were deafening.


I got into my car and texted Matty before I left the parking lot. "Be outside," I said.
"I need a hug."

I collapsed into his arms on our front porch. I wasn't sure what to do. I kept thinking about September 11th, 2001. When I had my first kiss with my first "real" boyfriend while the twin towers were coming down and us, listening to a CD and playing hooky from school, had no idea what was happening. I had returned to school that day, grinning ear to ear, only to leave sobbing uncontrollably a few hours later.

And that was New York.
And I was seventeen.
It impacted me, sure.
But I was still so removed.

So much time had passed that I didn't recognize this feeling -- absolute horror tinged with anger and sadness. And this time, it was so much more poignant and piercing.

The next few days carried on in a literal blur. I was happy to connect with those I hadn't in so long--everyone giving each other a proverbial "hey, glad you're okay," over the internet.

But the city was weird. And quiet. And suddenly there are five officers with machine guns standing infront of my favorite coffee shop in the morning (and I'm asking them if they need anything, because obviously.)

And everything was still so very sad.
The chaos that ensued that Friday seemed to be followed by an overwhelming sigh across the city. We weren't necessarily relieved. But we were okay. We were proud. And fucking strong. And we came together to thank those that worked so tirelessly to keep us safe and again, hug each other and say, if not in words but in actions, happy to have you here. (Sidebar--that's my buddy's video he captured outside his home that night, it's made the viral rounds. He captured quite the amazing moment.)

So, when the One Fund was announced, I donated. I didn't want a t-shirt or something to commemorate, I just wanted to give something. I saw friends and acquaintances do amazing, selfless things in the wake of this tragedy; and it reminds me just how fortunate I am.

This city has been so, so very good to me.

From arriving here an overbleached blonde eighteen year old, from an affluent suburb, with positively crippling self-consciousness and a brain full of underused vocabulary words...

To now. An absolutely confident woman (though it still feels very strange calling myself a "woman", not going to lie about it) who came to realize just who she is on these very streets.

I found my footing in college.
I followed home the cobblestone sidewalks of Beacon Hill countless times, drunk from scorpion
bowls and open ended conversations. I lived alone in the North End my senior year, a tiny tiled basement and so much optimism for life after school. I fell in love in Southie, and didn't realize it until I landed in Los Angeles three years later. I took my first job in Cambridge, and while our office finds me downtown now, I have stayed with my company for an epic six years. My career has kept me in this city despite my strongest inclinations to try somewhere else after school. I couldn't go, this opportunity has always been far too palpable.

It's been quite the blessing in disguise.
For now, our home is here. Along with all of our friends, and this crazy frat house we live in, and the most beautiful urban garden backyard you ever did see (thanks, Matty.)

And while I cannot say what cities I will find myself setting up shop in in the future, I can promise this. I will always follow my heart, which I hope will be honest, optimistic, and absolutely full of gratitude.

And this heart was raised in Boston.