I'm flying over England. I can see the fields below. Green fields in uneven blocks across the countryside. As I look down, my heart aches. 

I remember that flight, when I first moved, and the woman sitting next to me pointed down and said, "look, there's your new home."

At that point I felt sick. Felt that, maybe, I'd made the wrong choice. I was anxious.

But now, now I look down and wonder if I made the wrong choice moving back to America. Maybe staying in New York was a mistake. Perhaps my heart would still be in tact, perhaps my career in a different place, my faith- still solid. Or, perhaps not.