The cold of -14 below zero hit my face as I walked out of the plane yesterday at Minneapolis–St. Paul airport, and I immediately felt at ease. My life’s journey has taken me around the world, and no matter where the remaining years take me, my favorite sight will always be that bridge over the St. Croix River on I-94 — the one that tells me I’m home.
Too often, though, what brings me home these days are funerals — for the parents of friends who shaped my life, who remind me that I’ve now become the people they were when I was young. The circle of life is humbling that way. It gives you the gift of returning, but always with a touch of loss.
This time, though, the joy of being home felt different. It wasn’t just nostalgia. It was the tension in the air — the unease of what’s happening in the place that will always be home…