I got a little misty-eyed when I saw it in the rear-view, just eight years ago. I knew I would long for this city like the Diaspora longs for a Jerusalem they've never seen. "Next year in Pittsburgh," I would say. Back in those days, there was a lot of talk about Karbala and Najaf, the "holy cities" of Iraq, so I took to calling Pittsburgh "the holy city." But life brought me here rarely, and on the occasions that I did return here, I found that I'd forgotten the ways of urbanity. Much of the city's appeal faded down through the years of living in far-flung places. I still only halfheartedly admit that there are things I like about being back. Oh, but all my life I've specialized in being the outsider, the "come-from-away," as they call non-natives on the Maine coast. All my life I've been best at being an outsider trying to fit in: Oklahoma, Africa, New York, the North Woods. Being a resident alien explained my eccentricities. Now that I'm back here, there's no excuse. And it's taking me forever to make this transition. But oh, those city lights on a winter's night from the crest of Mount Washington!
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