Every home carries a distinct scent, often unnoticed until one is separated from it for a while. Though friends and visitors frequently remarked on the aroma unique to my childhood residence, I only came to truly recognize it after moving away. It was a subtle blend of familiar, comforting notes that had become part of my daily environment, something I took for granted until the distance made it clear.
As the eldest among three sisters, raised by nurturing parents with the support of engaged grandparents close by, the concept of home and family has always held paramount importance in my life. My family has been my unwavering support system. They stood by me at significant junctures—such as marching alongside me in my first Pride parade when I came out as queer during high school—and even drove six hours each way to assist me in settling into college. Given this background, the thought of pursuing my long-cherished ambition of moving to New York City came with both excitement and the certainty that my family would back me, even if the prospect of leaving them was difficult to reconcile.
Growing up in a lineage of motivated and determined individuals, I was certain from a young age that I would make my way to New York at the earliest opportunity. My parents had also begun their life together in the city, which further inspired me. Memorable birthday trips in my youth and summers spent working in Brooklyn during college cumulatively led me to the defining moment when I secured my ideal role as a sex educator in New York City.
Understanding that nothing would deter me from this goal, I nonetheless found myself confronting the reality that moving would redefine my immediate family life and sense of belonging. The close proximity to my family that I had long enjoyed would no longer be a daily fixture. While visiting them remained only a short drive away, I was uncertain how deeply I would miss the routine familial experiences: leisurely walks with my dog, endless late-night conversations with my sisters, and the now vividly recognizable oaky cinnamon essence that permeated my childhood home.
Initially, during my first months in New York, I focused on establishing my footing within a new social and community landscape. Fortunately, some of my dearest friends from college, Elliot and Ike, found an apartment within walking distance of mine. Although living nearby differed from the shared walls of our dormitory days, it allowed us to maintain cherished rituals—such as watching ocean documentaries and enjoying park picnics—in this novel environment.
The trajectory of my life shifted once more when I began a relationship with my then-girlfriend. We chose to move in together near my friends, which fostered an emerging sense of family in this new setting. The familiar domestic sounds that once defined my family life transformed into new rhythms: hearing the familiar jingle of my partner's keys returning home from work, the energetic scampering of our cats navigating the apartment, and the occasional rattling of the winter wind against the windows. It was in this space that I recognized I had carved out a new home, feeling content and grounded as if the transition had come full circle.
Subsequently, an unforeseen convergence of circumstances enriched my experience further. Two apartments became available within my residential complex—just as my best friends sought a new place and my sister, along with her partner, prepared to cohabit. Within a brief span of three months, the physical and emotional distance that once separated me from my family diminished significantly. Instead of awaiting rare holidays or infrequent visits to enjoy family dinners or game nights, I found myself surrounded daily by my own close-knit queer family right next door.
These proximate living arrangements have revived the intimate, everyday connections I once associated only with my childhood household: weekly grocery trips transformed into sisterly outings, and the comfort of borrowing household items like baking sheets from a best friend without leaving my pajamas became a joyful part of daily life. This proximity brings reassurance and a deepened sense of belonging that has reshaped my experience of home in the city.
While acknowledging that this living situation may not be permanent, there is an inherent beauty and grounding force in its impermanence. Just as I once ventured away from home, the possibility remains that my sister, best friend, or I might one day embark on new journeys that take us elsewhere. Yet, regardless of future paths, I will hold onto the memories—the vanilla aroma wafting through my best friend’s apartment or the herbal fragrance distinct to my sister’s studio—and the cherished connection that these neighbors, friends, and family represent in my life.