A Note to Friends and Family: 
(le problème d'avoir le cul entre deux chaises...)

            For the month of August I (Brad here) have been stateside for the first time in almost eleven months. Upon returning “home,” I realize that I’ve made the transition from a member of the community fabric to an appreciated but nonetheless passing visitor. I can no longer say, “I’m a student here,” or “I’m working just down the road,” or “Sorry I completely botched this I’ll be back next week.” The instant recognition and ease that comes with being a settled part of a place and community has been replaced by the stress of coming and going, of saying hello followed all too quickly by goodbye.

I’ve struggled with the basic fact that many of the relationships that mean the most to me are framed by a year of separation and are faced with another year of the same, give or take power-move visits to France and the prospect of a day or two of schwacky skiing in Vermont this Christmas. I feel like I’m playing continuous bombardment paddle ball with a dozen people and the best I can do is occasionally make a headlong dive and return one of many incoming volleys. I wish we could all move in to a castle in the French countryside and grow our own food and declare career goals achieved. Mostly I miss the daily grind of friendship and all that comes with it – unplanned and spontaneous excursions, shared time that’s hard to label, gatherings that begin and end without fanfare or farewells, discussions that swing back and forth easily from talking about life to talkin’ about junk. This past month I’ve been reminded of how much I miss the company and banter of true friends. My French is getting there, but interactions over there rarely hit the same notes.
 
            By choosing to live in Grenoble, I’ve put a good number of my family members and friends in a holding pattern where deliberate effort is required to keep the amity ball in motion. Many of you have complicated the situation by also choosing to live far from the communal stomping ground that I will loosely define as New England. The perks of living in relatively far-flung lifestyle locales are huge, I’m the first to admit, but I for one have definitely started to feel the potential cost of being so removed from the people who matter the most. Give me another couple years to let the climbing bug fully run its course, and I think the priority will quickly become access to community over access to unexplored mountains.

Despite the challenges of us living all over the place, I’ve realized that home can happen in bits and pieces. I think it’s fair to say that among our peers the idea of home as a single spot is becoming increasingly elusive. I found it this past month in a seldom-travelled mountain range in southeastern Colorado with my family, on the porch at the cabin in Keene Valley with a few good friends, out climbing for a day on Moss Cliff with Sambo, sitting around the table with Hillary and her family in St. J, crashed out on Jesse and Shira’s futon in Boston, and also in my bed in St. George still smelling cat pee from the infamous deeds of Ziggy the Vulgar years ago. Cell phones and Skype (let’s not talk about blogs) don’t quite do it, but quality conversation assures that the groove will pick up right where it left off as soon as everybody is back in the same place.

Let’s be honest – keeping in better touch from here on out may or may not happen, and that’s fine. We’re busy, selfish and scattered, but the love is there. Please know that you all mean the world to me.

Brad