After living on Long Island for the past four years, I am beyond thrilled to formally announce that I am moving back to New Jersey. Yes, it’s really happening. In just a few weeks.
Actually, I am already officially a resident of the Armpit of America once again, having done the dirty work at the DMV (or MVC as NJ calls it) earlier this week. And I’m not usually one to believe in “signs” or spiritual stuff, but the first song I heard on the radio upon leaving the
DMV MVC with my new New Jersey driver’s license and license plates was “Born to Run” – clearly that was the work of a higher power.
Though the wife and I had been talking about moving back for a while, the urge became clear once we welcomed our son into the world a few months ago. With our families being either two, or three and a half, hours away, it’s been difficult for him to see his grandparents. And every time we make the trip to Jersey, we have to pack up half the house. Also, I want my kid off of Long Island before he starts talking – I’d never forgive myself if he were to start speaking with that Lawn Guyland accent.
I’ll be honest – although I like to complain about Long Island a lot, there were a lot of great things about living here. We got to be closer to my grandmother during her final years, hang out with some wonderful relatives who live nearby a lot more often, and made some good friends. And while I’m thrilled to be moving back to the promised land, there are some things about this place that I will really miss. Like grandma pizza (sorry, pizza places in New Jersey just don’t get it right), the wineries on the North Fork (such a great setting compared to NJ’s wine country in South Jersey) and the ability to buy beer at every single grocery store, pharmacy, and gas station.
Despite these benefits, my heart is, always was, and forever will be in New Jersey. And now it’s time to come home.
Years ago, back in the glory days when I was living in an oceanfront apartment in Belmar, some friends and I spent a night on the balcony playing the board game “Escape From New Jersey!” And in the blog post recapping this adventure, I lamented how the game is impossible to win – just like in real life, there is no escape from the Armpit of America. However, having actually escaped for four years, I couldn’t be happier to be back. And I don’t plan on escaping ever again.