Once a week.. on Wednesday evening.. I grab my grocery list and head out into the dusk to do my weekly shopping. I am alone. Alone in the car. Alone with a radio. I turn on the local Top 40 station and turn it up.. loud. In my former life, when I was single, before I had a Stephen.. before I had twins.. I used to do this when I needed some alone time. Sometimes I drove in anger, peeling out in the Volvo after a fight with Mom. I drove in circles. I drove out to the country. I drove .. and I listened to music and I screamed and I cried.. it seemed to be the only place I could process the pain of my adolescence. I feel echos of those moments as I drive to Trader Joe's every Wednesday evening. The trip is never long enough.
In my former life, as I was speeding along the back roads of Guilford County I was listening to Rage, The Doors, 311.. the local alternative station.. even a little Marilyn Manson.. yes... Marilyn Manson (don't judge). These nights called for angry music. Music to scream too. Music that absolves you of hatred. Of the darkness that lives in your heart in that moment. I won't say that I don't still struggle with my temper ... but moments like these were confined to years 16-20. Now I drive to get groceries. To visit Ellen after the kids are all in bed.
In my former life, I would never have tuned into any radio station playing "popular" music. Working in the city, it seemed impossible to get away from songs like the one above. They were on peoples phones on the subway. Drifting out onto the sidewalk from little bodegas and H&M. I felt bombarded with popular culture. Now I feel starved for it. I never had to try to keep up with what was out there. Now listening to a pop station on the radio is the best I can do. Not because the town I live in is backward.. far from it. But because my life is so desperately different in every way. I crave pop and hip hop in a way I never have. I look forward to long drives at night with "Empire State of Mind" blasting away everything in my head. I drive down the road and I am tempted to keep going.. to just hit repeat and keep driving until I find my way back home. I let my mind wander to former days. Intoxicated by the nostalgia that warms my heart. I am alone and nostalgic for those moments when I was crammed into the train, watching the Brooklyn Bridge pass outside as we crossed the Manhattan. The moments late at night, leaning on Stephen's shoulder on our way home from a night out... watching that bridge pass outside the window.. burning the feeling into my heart.. realizing that our time was surely limited.. that one day these moments would be a memory... never taking it for granted.... reliving it all.. mile by mile.. behind the wheel of our little red car..
6 comments:
Great post. Raw. True. A little like reading a daydream. Thanks for sharing.
I have to say, this comment is related to an earlier post you put up, and not this one. (Though reading this one took me back to our beloved City. Sigh.)
Anyway, it was your post about becoming a member at your church; I think it was a couple weeks ago. I read that, and I thought "I have got to send her a FB message", but I never did. Just wanted to say, we joined a very traditional, medium-sized Bapt. church here in Cary in 2007 shortly after we were married and settled. At the time, it was the church of our dreams. It's a great church, but since we both grew up attending churches that were traditional in worship & largely catered to the Senior population, we felt right at home. Until... Until it became obvious that there were few folks our age there, and until we seemed to begin to be considered as "the young couple who could get more young couples in here", which couldn't be further from the truth since we're both somewhat introverted.
Now I'm pregnant. Our church that once met our needs seems to be the kind of church that would hardly be able to meet the needs of our Baby in another six months. Add to that, by serving we've become, dare I say, burned out. Drained. And somewhat outta place because I don't have quite the amount of gray hair that most other folks there have.
Thus begins the dreadful thought of finding a new church to call home. It's a daunting task, and I don't relish it or wish it on anyone. We've been burned time and time again by churches, yet Christ calls us to be forgiving and to "move on". Finding a church that will meet our needs as individuals, our Baby's needs as an individual, and our needs as a family seems...impossible. Yet, leaving our church that we seem so needed at seems wrong as well. Such a hard decision to make.
And now that I've said all of this, I'm not so sure what it has to do with your post about church, except that it made me think, "Hallelujah, a family out there took the time to find a church that was right for THEM." I truly, truly hope it stays that way, for I'm finding in my old age that as churches go, one size does NOT fit all, and they sometimes can be hard to come by!
Now I'm going to close my eyes and take my memories back to those long subway rides from Jamaica into Midtown. Bliss.
I love this post, one of my favorites... you are craving hip hop! ;o)
Thanks guys :)
so when are you showing me around brooklyn?? :)
I love this.
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