One week from today, I’ll be in Long Island.
I’ll be there, at the beach, for one week, and then I’ll make my way a little north and stay at home with my family for the summer. I can’t explain it, but for the last few years I’ve felt a deep ache to return, even if only for a season. To look out from all of New York’s eastern shores. To touch the soil with my hands. To spend time learning about and loving on the land.
I was born and raised in New York, and have lived there my whole life. Then I married my husband and made a swift move down south.
But the last few years? I’ve been longing for my home state like it is a homeland. Because, truly? It is. I’ve shared before that I am not just from New York, I am of New York.
Lately, my head has been lost in the lists of books, articles, and museums that I’ve made for myself. While so many are fascinated by the dazzle of New York City, I’m discovering its demise. I’m following the return of whales to New York’s waters, and why they disappeared in the first place. I’m following the breadcrumbs of the city’s history, the fact that is was an island before industrialization.
Did you know that, really know that. Or do you ever think about that? That New York City was not always a city. That, before it was a busy and bustling world of business, it was (and still is) an estuary and a sanctuary for a diversity of flora and fauna.
I feel a longing to lean into this and learn more about it — the land, the history and genealogy of my Native tribe—the Lenape, the original people that tended to the island of Manhattan, or Manahatta.
This longing is one, of many, reasons why I’ll be moving back to New York/New Jersey in the next few weeks and months ahead.. About these other reasons, I’ll share some other time.
But, as for this particular longing. This farsickness, or fernweh, as the German word describes, with fern meaning “far” and weh meaning “pain.”
I’m a native New Yorker who has never been out to Long Island, and, one week from today, I’ll finally be in this place that I have longed to be.
Its beaches. Its land. Its people. Its place.
Let’s see what I find, and what finds me. Until next week.
All,
Rachel
P R O M P T
Ponder this prompt:
Respond to this prompt in the comments and write about your fernweh. What far-away, distant place is calling out to you? Is it a country or a state or geographical location? A body of water? A landform? A place you frequent, or a place you can’t quite pinpoint, but deeply know or sense is beckoning, calling.
Do tell.
Take this with you:
Büşra Kayikci has quickly become my favorite pianist. Her music speaks a language my soul knows all too well. Born and raised in Istanbul, Türkiye, Büşra Kayıkçı is an architect turned composer.
There is so much more that I could share about her, and will, but her song, “Fernweh,” along with a few others, is what I currently have on repeat.
Tell me if you listen, but do not tell me if you decide this song does not accurately embody the feeling of farsickness. This song is a stunning sound, and I hope it stirs up the kinds of beautiful stories and longings that burn so deep, you can’t help but seek them out.⬩
I wrote the song when I dreamt of being by the sea at the beginning of the lockdown, because that was my daily routine. And I felt the absence of water so deeply. Because the feeling of eternity that I get when I look at the horizon and watch the movement of the water is a great source of inspiration for me. When I watch the sea, I often think about how big the world we see is, like the land we live on. I find the contrast between these two forms of life, above and below the sea, very interesting. It makes me think about how harmoniously these two completely different forms of life exist together despite all the contradictions.
—Büşra Kayikci
If you’re new around here, please introduce yourself in the comments.
Would warm my heart to meet you!
Always grateful for your support.
Read + review Let There Be Art
Read + review The Matter of Little Losses
Recent letters:
Dear Rach, my oh my, what beautiful words you have shared. At 18 I left my birth home and never returned. I did not long for it. We never had what I would call home. My husband and I traveled throughout Europe and the States for his jobs. His never ending jobs. There was nowhere, that we lived, that felt like home. @TashaJun speaks of Shalomsick. A longing for something, somewhere that you can’t imagine. And now I have fernweh. I am still longing. I long for the sea. I long for the home I stumbled across, of my own, and I knew that I was finally home. And then, yet another move. I have grieved, sobbed, screamed, etc. because once again I am not home. I am old. I will never return to my heart home. The pain is palpable. I ache. I long for home and I long for the sea. I am both shalomsick and fernweh. Thank you friend for words that speak to my spirit. As always, grateful. Susan
Dear Rach, me again. I made the previous comment about myself and I apologize for not including you. I am so pleased for you that you are going to the seashore. If your heart desires cry for you to return home, then I am pleased for you. I am hoping that sadness does not accompany you. Enjoy your moments because they become your memories. You are loved 🥹🙏🏼🕯️🕊️❤️🩹🩶