Walking Home

I get to walk in Atlanta on Sunday evenings now, courtesy of Annabelle’s ambition to once again be a part of Northside Youth Choir tour this summer.  This is year four of our now-traditional Sunday night ATL turnaround that happens from January until June--provided the weather is good and homework complete.   I will admit the commute to rehearsals is kind of intriguing—I try not to think about it too much lest I begin to doubt my own good judgment.  But the little jaunt has worked itself into being a kind of pleasant finish to the weekend—the journey is comfortable, seeing old friends is always fun for both of us, and now it is just something we do.  When June does come, and Annabelle with her long-time BFFs head out together on a wonderful cross-country journey to a whole lot of places she would otherwise never visit, I am always elated for her--and I feel so clever for having made the effort.    

I love living in Chattanooga, but I also enjoy being back in Atlanta, particularly around the neighborhood that was once home.  So it goes like this:  Annabelle gets dropped at Northside and I hit the road.  The truly great thing about walking in Buckhead is the bounty of choices for ways to go, any number of really pretty routes are available depending on time and how many miles I have in mind.  Besides the familiar and lovely scenery along the streets, the best part of the whole deal is I usually run into a loved one—or several--along the way, thus finding a great time to catch up.  No matter which direction I walk, a memory lives on most every corner—and then there is a kaleidoscopic remembering extravaganza to be had passing by Morris Brandon Elementary, where many of us spent countless precious times together. 

However, an extraordinary thing occurs time and again when I am walking.  It is subtle and kind of crazy but, for a fleeting moment, I forget the date on the calendar and find myself ready to head back over to our old house on Dawn View Lane.  With the sun setting and me on familiar neighborhood streets where I have walked countless times, it feels like I have been on an extended vacation and, here I am, back home again.  Never mind I have not laid eyes on the place in almost four years, and the furnishings are all scattered, sold, stored or in our little house on Signal Mountain.  Oh, and by the way, other people do live there now.  No no no, none of that matters—for about three seconds in my head, I am walking home, past the brick mailbox and up that big hill, through the side door and it will all still be there—lights on, ESPN on the television, little William and Annabelle popping their heads up from the green family room sofa, wondering about dinner.  The Bug is in the garage where it belongs, the phone is ringing, it's my mother.  For just a flash, I’m a-going home. 

And then, with a slight shake of my head, I smile and I know for sure that I am not. 

I will admit, occasionally in my mind I do long to return to that house as it was and take a little walk through it.  I would reflect on its loveliness and be so thankful for having lived there.  And what I would give to have just one day again with the children being little, to spend time with William and Annabelle in small form, relive the days that I never really understood would pass by too quickly.  Then the scenario gets even better—seeing the old neighbors, living another day being one of them, going up to the school for some fellowship around Mary’s desk—oh, I could go on and on with this fantasy.  The days were so simple, and a do-over would be really sweet. 

But to step back into that world, the last three and one half years of life would have to be given a vigorous Etch-a-Sketch shake and made to disappear.   And I really cannot say goodbye to some of the most meaningful days I have ever lived and to the kind and awesome people who have come into my life along the way.  If the last few years were only an illusion, I would never have experienced the significant times of both loss and gain and, even more, I would not know the new loved ones and friends who are a part of my world now and who make a tremendous difference every day.  And I have only found them by being here in this place.   

I have learned some amazing things.  Like how much work and economic power it takes to sustain a family.  (A whole lot!).  I have been humbled time and again by seeing just how much I don't know and how much other people do know, inspiring me to broaden my horizons and work to be better.  I understand now it is not what you have that matters, but what you choose to do with all that you have.   And my faith has been strengthened in tremendous ways I never thought possible. 

I find myself a working woman living in Chattanooga, blessed in innumerable ways.  I have some awesome, steadfast friends I love here and in Atlanta—and around the country and the world.   I feel fortunate to have the best of both worlds—not only do I have the incredible beauty and ease of day-to-day living in Chattanooga, I am thankful I can experience bright days in ATL whenever I am there. 

The truth is, I have learned more about what is really important since leaving Dawn View Lane than I did in all the time I lived there.  While some days have been challenging, they are outnumbered tenfold by so many more wonderful outcomes that I otherwise would not have experienced, ever.  And it all began with walking down off of that hill. 

“You're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting,
So... get on your way!”
― Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You'll Go!