For one week, I stepped out of reality and into something comfortable – easy, even. Escaping from the bitter cold and whirlwind of New York City to find refuge in the sun and sea in my hometown was something I looked forward to. My hometown was a promise land full of salt water, food, and love. And for one week, I relished in that.
But something stung.
Something stung as I passed by certain places. I saw memories in these private landmarks that held captive like ghosts whose souls haven’t settled. Passing these memories made me ache for childhood. The heady smell of honeysuckle took my mind to the woods behind my neighborhood; the woods I once explored in hopes of finding Narnia. Downtown, where I first sung Hallelujah to curious, drunk souls. The causeway – God, that beautiful causeway - where I escaped anything and everything; and where my lips crashed into his for the first time.
My childhood is anchored to my hometown; the hometown I once wrote songs about leaving for New York, the hometown that I’ve accused of mistreatment and killing dreams.
But we reconciled last week. We left things on good terms. I grew up well – my roots grew deep in passion and my sights were always directed up. I found life and love in my hometown.
Puling myself out of comfort- away from love- and directly into the chaos and thrill of the city was like joining a stampede.
Adjusting to life here is difficult at times, but I can feel strength rising in me – electrifying every muscle and defining my dreams.
I do need to find time to write for myself though. Applications and essays and studying have taken priority lately, but you’ll read be seeing more of my words (and music) soon.
Thanks for reading a little bit of my thoughts