I spent a long time trying to find my favorite place in Boston. 

It used to worry me that I couldn’t immediately think of any one place in a town I’ve lived in for the past seven years that I liked more than all the others.  I’d been able to find it almost instantly in other cities - the spot you walk by or visit that somehow inspires both awe and confidence in the fact that it is exactly where you are supposed to be.  The place where you always feel grounded, that you miss when you’re away, and never tire of seeing pictures of.

It was St. Isaac’s in St. Petersburg, Queen’s Lane in Oxford, and the Jefferson Memorial back home. 

I was worried that not having that place here in Boston meant it wasn’t where I was supposed to be.

But now I know:  it’s the Longfellow Bridge.