Born Again

I have lived in Washington, DC since 1996. I’ve seen the cherry blossoms a dozen times and ran around the Tidal Basin a dozen more. I’ve marched for gay rights, reproductive rights, Darfur, and gun control. I’ve eaten the half-smokes at Ben’s Chili Bowl, the truffle-mashed potatoes at DC Coast, the fried chicken at Georgia Browns, and the infamous death by chocolate pie at Kramerbooks Café more times than I care to acknowledge. How could I possibly find anything new about the city that I have called “home” for the past thirteen years?

I didn’t want to get up today. Although I saw the sun sneaking through the blinds, I thought to myself, "What's the point?" Which trail could I run that would be new? What museum could I walk to that I have not been to before? I threw the covers over my head and tried to go back to sleep. I wished that when my eyes opened again that I'd be back in my old bedroom. If Pam Ewing could have a yearlong dream, why couldn't I?

Everyone told me not to make any sudden moves the first year. Don't quit your job. Don't leave town. Save your money. Take it easy. But, I'm restless. I turn from one side to the other, throw pillows on the floor and all the while I am stuck with this annoying Proust quote in my head: “The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” Yeah, thanks Proust. I didn't ask for these new eyes. No one consulted me. There was not even a negotiation. I liked the old life that I had just fine. I'm tired, restless, and my heart is just not in it anymore.

Nonetheless, I decide to crawl out of bed and get the bike out. Could I ride around the District as if I were tourist seeing it for the first time?

If the first year was about survival, then this next year seems to be about awakening. I think I like the first year better.

I'm scared. Really scared. I don't have anyone to answer to. I make my own decisions. I am responsible for keeping myself warm at night. I cook my own dinner. I decide when to get up in the morning. I am learning these things for the first time--again.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, "Sorrow makes us all children again, destroys all difference of intellect. The wisest knows nothing." Emerson's son, Waldo, had just died from scarlet fever when he wrote that. You think you have this life ahead of you. You see the future. Your course is planned. But, then your story is rewritten. What you thought you knew has been completely turned on its head.

You know I talk to Cindy? I ask her for advice. To tell me if I am doing the right things, making the correct choices. And I beg her to come back. I just can't believe that she left me here without her. The girl who couldn't bear not to talk to me at least 10 times a day on the phone. The girl who stayed up all night with me. The girl who promised me that she would never leave me. How am I supposed to do this? I know that the first year I sounded all kinds of smart and positive, but this second year I'm at a loss without her. It's like Emerson said. I know nothing anymore.

The first year I was surrounded. Crowded, in fact. But, I know in my heart that this next year needs to be me on my own. I have to re-learn, discover, and understand new things about myself. I used to tell people that I felt like an old soul since I had already experienced so much. But, now I am backtracking. I am a scared kid again--boarding the school bus for the first time and I want nothing more than to run back home.

I do want to go home. You actually don't know how bad I want to go back home--back to Cindy. I'm lonely. Cold. Tired. And I'm pissed that she left me behind.

This next year has me worried. Although, I emerge into it without any expectations, I am really scared. I thought the first year I was pretty strong, but this next year seems unpredictable. The only thing keeping me going right now? Curiosity.

Interestingly, during my informal bike tour around DC, I did discover a landmark that I had never seen before. As I was biking alongside the Lincoln reflecting pool, something new caught my eye. Hidden between the World War II and Korean War Memorials is a somewhat neglected dome temple commemorating the DC residents who served in World War I. It is also the only local District memorial on the National Mall. How many times have I run alongside the reflecting pool and never seen this structure between the trees? And why today did I finally notice it?