I’m starting to think that in this decade, the tide really shifts and suddenly the window for embarking on new endeavors begins to close. There are less things that feel new or unexplored, because at 40 years, all of us have now lived through a fair amount of stuff. Attainment in any respect no longer promises a sense of fulfillment, and all that you grew up believing—all of those things that were fed to you as “thou must do”—now drop back in the life priority list. They’re wedged somewhere between texting stupid memes and watching episodes of ‘Insecure’.  At 40, freshly-brewed and short-term escapism can seem like the best thing going in a world of routine.

I’m writing while flying home again from London. Over the years, travel has become my own brand of repetition—and it certainly is not what I envisioned as a little girl (the truth is I had no vision). Having said that, the dragging of luggage to and fro is starting to hurt my back, and at this stage I virtually sleepwalk through places like immigration lines and mass transit hubs. They’re all just wickets that have long since become unremarkable (but the people watching remains amazing). But still, even though my brain has been doing this for decades, I do feel wonder in knowing that I will be home again—happily able to settle my eyes into something comfortable.I remember as a kid, years before The Big Dig was finally finished, when our car would snake through Boston’s Central Artery while on the way to see my mom’s family in Maine. I loved going through the city because at every bend you could get a glimpse of emblematic buildings, profiles and murals. These days, the artery is gone and instead get to enjoy the area from a lower level on the greenway, but back then, this is how I got to know Boston.

Growing up on Cape Cod, my exposure to the city was as long and gradual as the Big Dig’s construction. I was taken into town by my parents to see Bruins games at the old Garden or into Faneuil Hall. Next I was entrusted with taking the Bonanza bus alone to South Station for a day of unlimited exploration. Finally, I learned to drive and took my dad’s car to the Red Line commuter park and onward to the Esplanade for a concert or experience First Night in the Public Garden. Later my sister moved to the city after college, and that’s when I got a real glimpse of our capital’s heartbeat. As a 20something just starting out, she had that sense of interest and wonder for everything new (so did I)—together I loved being introduced to things like Celtics games and local food discoveries like Christina’s Ice Cream or Mike’s Pastry.

All of these experiences that have accumulated over the years, if I look at them through the eyes of myself as a kid, they seem to be almost unbelievable. Out of reach. In the case of Boston, I have never actually lived in the city—but all the same, it remains a place that remains shiny. Even though I have spent many years trafficking in and out of the worn streets, it’s an emotional NAVAID of sorts, something that perpetually magical, no matter how lackluster everything else becomes.

It’s about the places where we first started to grow, and how we invested time in learning to cast ourselves into each particular mold. We like to think that we are the world’s center, and that we are the people who effect all the change and circumstances that take place. In some way, this might be true—but the reality is that we inhabitants learn to position ourselves into the framework in such a way that is mutually beneficial to self and city.

I’m not even home yet, and while I have started this by talking about how everything is starting to feel old and played out (even my body), I do feel like a kid at Christmas every time I fly into Boston after a protracted absence. Getting to the see the city crop up like a 3D model that comes to a clustery head on the inner harbor, it never ceases to delight. Of course my adult brain tells me that this is just emotion connecting with familiarity- but the emotion always overrides the 40 year old. Getting back to where we come from allows the deepest layers of ourselves to relax. Maybe that’s why I feel like I write about this so much.

I’m finally back now and sitting on a MBTA ferry to the outer harbor. We’re nearly at my stop and this is where I will meet my sister who now has son sharing her love of Celtics and ice cream. She often takes him on this same ferry to go into the city, and I love seeing the photos of them as they make the trip. He is getting to map his own brain in the first years of his life. His eyes, even if he doesn’t know it yet, are starting to record familiarity and hopefully at things like the big Hood Milk Bottle. I don’t know where he’s going to be at 40, but I can only guess that it will be somewhere else with some new routine. But one thing I can be certain of, from most people who grow up around here, coming back is always one of the best feelings in the world.