| BOSTON |
BOSTON. The Bean. The City of Champs. Revolution’s birthplace. HOME.
This damned city. This ubiquitously historic, uniquely positioned, utterly beautiful, and unimaginably resourced city. This undaunted, unconventional, unabashed, unassailable mini metropolis. Known to many, if not most, as the home of the massholes, but more specifically and primarily for me, Bostonians. The differentiation? A masshole will tell you they are from the city, but when you ask what part of Boston, you’ll get a blank stare. You ask a Bostonian where they are from, and they will tell you a part of the city. Dorchester, Roxbury, Mattapan, Ctown, Allston, Eastie, Southie, the North End, Back Bay/South End, or Hyde Park. Each is distinct and idiosyncratic, with its own quirky neighborhoods and town squares centered around portentous municipal buildings, inauspicious police district offices, or, best of all, elaborate libraries.
The Goldilocks city is what I call it; not too big and not tooo small. Somewhere just in the middle, something just right. This is kinda where this shit all started, not just for me, but for the country—the cradle of democracy. New York, as you’ll read more about, is a bit too big. A bit of a monstrosity. Humans are artists, so it’s not ugly or horrendous but just not natural. Mother Nature could not fathom New York. It is overwhelming, to say the least; more on that later, though.
This is an old city, famed and infamous, treasured or hated; rarely will you find someone with a neutral opinion of the city of Boston. The reason one person fell in love with the city is the same exact reason another person came to loathe it. Even those who have always called this place home have one or two things that make them consider leaving, but then they stay. Because they are enamored, infatuated with what it means to live here, to call this place home. They would hate themselves more, regret their decision, and ponder their existence if they ever left. I’ve done a bit of traveling thus far; some you might have already read, you’ll read/hear me say a few places feel like home. But nothing is actually HOME.
Nothing beats this.
A Vineyard summer, a white Christmas, an ablaze treeline in autumn, not inflamed but in hue. All in a place small enough for everyone to know who your cousins are but big enough to never SEE your actual cousins. You’ll see the same people on your commute, but different bunches on the way in and when you’re headed home. It's not NYC, where the people you commute with you likely won’t ever see again; this city still feels like a town.
I grew up all over Boston. Born in Cambridge. Raised in Roxbury on Harold Street. Moved to Dorchester, right off Morton on Leston Street. Then down to Lower Mills, lower Dorchester. And then here in Hyde Park. A beautiful journey. All around the city, if you look at it. Not much of Cambridge is in my mind. That was pre-consciousness. It's a beautiful place to be from. You’ll know when you meet someone from across the river. We have a certain quirk.
There are black people in Boston? It's a funny question you often receive whilst traveling. I haven’t found a witty response quite yet, probably because it's a befuddling level of ignorance not to be aware of the massive continental and global south diaspora here. Dart Adams got the full history, but you can start with Crispus Attucks and Phillis Wheatley, then move on to David Walker and William Trotter, then Melnea Cass, who welcomed the likes of MLK and Malcolm X and inspired Jean McGuire, Jeep Jones and Co. Even esteemed leaders once called Boston home, like Frederick Douglass before them and Barack Obama long after. Then there are pop culture icons Donna Summer and New Edition. Today you can go all the way to Ayanna Pressley. The melanated population of Boston has had an impact and influence on this country since its inception.
