An Alaskan Heart Divided: Ambition, Absence, and the Pull of Metlakatla.
The rain here in Metlakatla… it’s a different kind of rain, isn’t it? It soaks deeper, feels older, carries the scent of cedar and the sea. For years, I only knew the sharp, fleeting showers of the cities, the kind that slicked concrete and then vanished as quickly as they came. Now, back home, this persistent drizzle feels like a constant, gentle reminder.
For so long, the mainland called to me. The allure of the corporate world, the thrill of flight, the promise of seeing corners of this vast country I’d only dreamed of – it was a powerful siren song. I chased that song, earned my wings in more ways than one, and for a time, the world unfolded beneath me like a map. There were triumphs, challenges met head-on, and a sense of accomplishment that felt hard-earned.
But beneath the hum of jet engines and the crisp efficiency of boardrooms, a quiet ache began to grow. It was the ache of absence. The ache of knowing that with every mile I soared away, I was further from the steady rhythm of life here, further from the familiar faces and the comforting embrace of home.
College felt like a necessary stepping stone, a launchpad. The aviation world, a dream realized. Yet, woven into the fabric of those achievements was a growing thread of guilt. Guilt that while I was charting routes across the country, my parents were here, their lives continuing without me in the daily, unassuming ways that matter most. Guilt that I traded the scent of saltwater for the sterile air of airport terminals. Guilt that I pursued my ambitions while leaving a piece of my heart behind.
For the past two years, since I’ve returned, this weight has been a constant companion. It sits heavy on my chest during quiet moments, whispers in my ear during community gatherings. It’s the unspoken apology I feel with every familiar smile I receive, every shared story I listen to.
Metlakatla, my home, my roots – I left. And while I know my journey was one of personal growth and the pursuit of dreams, the shadow of that departure lingers. Did I let you down? Did I somehow break an unspoken bond by seeking a life beyond these shores? This is the struggle that occupies my thoughts, the question that echoes in the quiet of the long Alaskan evenings.
Coming back hasn’t magically erased those years of absence. It’s a process of re-entry, of learning the nuances of a life I once knew intimately but now view through a slightly different lens. It’s about showing up, being present, and slowly, perhaps, mending the distance I created.
This isn’t a plea for forgiveness, but rather an acknowledgment of a truth I can no longer ignore. It’s the raw honesty of a heart grappling with the choices made and the longing for connection that runs deeper than any ambition. The tide pulls strong here, always has. And lately, I find myself listening more intently to its call, hoping to find my place again within its steady rhythm.
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