I'd been living and working in Switzerland for about a half dozen years when I realized I had reached the point that many ex-pats reach . . . Do I stay or do I go.
I loved Switzerland. I loved Boston.
Because I had six weeks vacation (by law), I decided to spend six weeks in Boston between December and January.
I stayed with friends in a house I had once owned and invested sweat equity in. My girl friend and I discussed starting a language school.
Boston is a wonderful city. It was nice to be on Wigglesworth Street again with its brick town houses. The T was at the end of the street, Harvard Medical and Dental Schools across the street with five colleges in a few minute walks and more a T-stop or two away.
The Museum of Fine Arts was a couple of blocks away.
One night snow started falling, creating the winter wonderland I loved.
Walking down the street in the early evening, some of the windows were lit and I could see Christmas trees already decorated. Some had candles in the windows. It was if a Christmas card had come to life.
Many of the three story houses had been converted into apartments that were rented by students. Those windows were dark. The students had gone home for Christmas.
Snow covered the brick sidewalk and the faux gas lights glowed.
During my stay, the feasibility of starting the language school became less and less practical. I was also homesick for Geneva, Mont Blanc, the lake, the ability to go to France only four bus stops away, friends from many countries, the many languages.
I pictured myself cloned, living in both places that I truly loved at the same time. Impossible.
I thought back to the night when I made the angel that had quickly disappeared as new snow fell.
Geneva, the day I returned had snow and Mont Blanc was majestic. I didn't make another angel. The one in Boston told me where my life should be.
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