Once more at an Airbnb in a New Haven neighborhood primarily inhabited by grad students, it would seem. I am momentarily nostalgic for graduate school.
But then I recall the feeling of stepping on to campus at Columbia the other day and remembering that graduate school wasn't actually that romantic. It's not like college. It's kind of a grind. Lots of great stuff happened in grad school, no doubt. Learned a lot, met Mary, got sober, got to know New York better, learned how to make a delicious lasagna by making a normal lasagna and then pouring a container of heavy cream over it, but it wasn't a time of adventure in the same way college was. It was instead the time of the end of adventure in the old sense, the time when I realized that hopping around obscure corners of Europe (the most adventure I'd allow myself) got old.
Maybe it would have been different had I ventured further afield, but I doubt it. But there's something about New Haven that makes it look exciting. An optical illusion, no doubt, caused by the fact that I went to college here.
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