Back to the Same Old

I brought a camera to capture the new Boston. Some things surely must've changed over the past year, right?

Wrong.

Stepping off Back Bay into the neighborhoods where I once lived and often shopped, I knew exactly where everything lay. It was, in fact, exactly as it'd always been. Only the window dressings changed, and there was a new Dunkin Donuts.

We roamed the streets I used to roam. We stopped at my favorite tea shop. We paused to admire the harbor and the crooked streets and the blooming cherry blossoms. Boston, as always.

I had craved Boston for many reasons: friends, family, familiarity, fun. It's safe and secure and I love it. I also have a thing about hairdressers, and in Boston, I found the first hairdresser I liked.

To me, going to the hairdresser is no different than going to the dentist. It's necessary, you feel better after the fact, but the whole process is painful and boring. Who wants to force awkward small talk with a stranger who's operating on you with due diligence?

Christine, however, was different. She was fun and talented; I not only liked what she did to my hair, I liked hanging out with her. I waited far too long to get my hair cut or colored just so I could do so with her.

And this was the first change I encountered in Boston: Christine quit.

But the hair was in desperate need of attention, so I found someone else to take up the charge. Within hours, my tangled mass of long multi-colored curls was transformed into a short crop of straight brown silk. Change #2.

I emerged needing something really familiar: My old haunt. My old lounge. My favorite bar.

I walked in and the owner dropped his jaw and opened his arms. He held me close, brought my favorite wine, and sat me down to hear stories and share his own. I smiled. This, my friends, is home. This is being welcomed back to the familiar. This is fun.

And thus a seven hour spree began, surrounded by friends and family. Some things really never change.