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This week on the Equals Record, I wrote about the notion of home - and how that's changed for me as I've gotten older. Despite the fact that I've lived in New York for three years, I still think of L.A. as home - it's where my parents are, after all. It's where I was born. But I love living in New York and spend 99% of my time here - at what point, if ever, will it really become home to me?

An excerpt from the new post: I often tell people that New York feels like “The One”; that I love its noisiness and smelliness, its history and cultural mishmash. I live here and work here. Most of my friends are here. For all intents and purposes, my life is here. And yet, it still feels a bit funny to refer to New York as home. In fact, it’s a strange concept for me to think of home as anywhere other than where my parents are. Is home defined by family, I wonder? Parents? Friends? Or is it where you work? Play? Lay your head at night? I’m not sure. 

See the post in its entirety on the Equals Record, here. Thank you so, so much for reading!

Photos of L.A. and New York by Max Wanger.
 

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