At the Movies.

At home on Winter Break during my freshman year of college, I went to the movies with a group of high school friends. We'd intended to see Titanic but arrived at the theater to learn the showing was sold out. Someone suggested we see Good Will Hunting instead. I shrugged. I'd never heard of it before, I said, but sure, why not? As I watched the opening shots, I leaned over to a friend in our group, she in her first year at Wellesley, and whispered as loudly as I could - "Hey! Boston!"

Two hours later, a place that had felt like a foreign, sprawling city, of which I didn't know what to make, felt charming, comfortable. And maybe a tiny bit more like home - for a semester at least.

******

In the fall of 2006, I had a decision to make. I'd moved to New York City a year earlier and despite a wide variety of disheartening setbacks, I had eventually found somewhat level ground - at least on the professional side of things. I had a job at the most prestigious magazine company in the world. If I continued to pay my dues and bide my time I would most likely climb their company ladder and move higher up the food chain.

And yet, my heart wasn't quite in it.

It was on a Sunday when two of my friends called me up and asked if I'd like to go to the movies. The three of us met for coffee ahead of time, I told them I had to decide if I was staying in New York or not. And quickly. My landlord wanted a renewed lease if I was staying or the ability to show the apartment to other renters if I wasn't.

My friend Mark sat across from me, coffee cup in hand. Stay. That was his vote. "You have a foot in the door at a great place," he said. "You're meeting people, making contacts. Stay."

I shrugged. "Let me think about it," I said.

The movie of choice that afternoon was a little film called The Departed. If you've seen it, you might recall a scene where Jack Nicholson and his crew drive over the Zakim Bridge with the Dropkick Murphy's Shipping Up to Boston playing in the background. It was during that moment, that scene, that I knew, unequivocally, I was moving back to Boston. My heart was not going to have it any other way. Decision made.

******

Yesterday morning, I woke up feeling a little blue, a little melancholy, for no reason in particular. I was missing my family, and spent most of the morning rolling over the notion of my lack of blood relations in this town. I've made this city my own, my home, but for what, I wondered?

And then I met my friend at a neighborhood movie theater to catch an afternoon showing of The Town.

Oh, right.

I'm not from Charlestown, I'm not a born and bred local, I am certainly not a bank robber.

But oh, to be reminded of how I love this city in two hours. The crooked, narrow, winding streets. The wicked thick accent. The townie blue-collar types mixing with the white-collar yuppies. The overcast days, the brilliantly blue sky days. The Red Sox as a religion. Yes, I'm glorifying things. I'm simplifying real issues, causes, and relations. This city? It is not perfect. People can be rude, unfriendly. Everyone behind the wheel of a car is a maniac, the weather can be brutal, parking is a nightmare.

And yet, these places. Boston, Cambridge, Charlestown. These neighborhoods. As imperfect as they are, they are, in so many ways, perfect to me.

I don't know if I'll live here forever; that's a future I can't quite predict. But for now, I'll enjoy this perfectly imperfect city. And head to the movies when I need a quick reminder of why a certain spot is so close to my heart.