movement

This time a year ago, I was in Wellington. But I knew I’d be leaving it behind soon.

Now, I’m in Wellington again, but only for  few days. I’ve only been here a couple of hours and the weather is broody and windy and typical, but it really feels so good.

I hold tight to the knowledge that my new job has a Wellington office too, in case the opportunity to return comes up.

Wellington is where I fit in. It’s where the city’s pulse is as close to mine as any city could get. Auckland is ‘home’ – in the sense of it’s where I was born, where I grew up, where I currently live. Wellington is where everything makes more sense.

I’m sitting in Uther’s Mum’s lounge, surrounded by empty bookshelves and a piano. I have a sore throat, and the plane’s landing decent was the roughest I’ve ever experienced. But it’s still the place I want to be. I picture a future, and it’s here.

For now, though, life and work means Auckland. It could be worse.

I have no plans, except to absorb the essence of the place for a little while, and to see as many people as possible. It feels like it’s been no time at all.

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