Gazebo

Pulled from the pages of my written journal

As I write this entry, I’m sitting around a gazebo in a small town I used to live in. It’s amazing that I lived over a fifth of my life here. And now, here I sit again. It’s eerily strange.

The sky is slightly blue, with a definite layer of humidity still hanging around into the latter part of September. I hear birds, and bugs, and too many vehicles without proper muffler systems. Half of these cars probably wouldn’t even pass smog testing in California. And the bugs...I don’t remember hearing the bugs in California. I do remember the way the front of my car used to look after driving down the freeway on a summer night. The layer of dead bugs used to be incredibly thick, even a good car wash wouldn’t be enough.

Now, I feel a light sprinkle softly sounding on these pages and the ground around me. I wonder - could I return here? Could I live here again? When Rachel #5 and I recently chatted about old street corners, she said she had a hard time revisiting them. To me, it’s not necessarily the physical aspect of revisiting places I once lived, but more the psychological aspect (which was similar to what Rachel was expressing to me). Although I told people that I’d still be the same person, I’m not. I’ve changed - grown, to be more precise - shedding the layers around my true essence...something that was at the core of who I always was. Revisiting aspects of who I wasn’t and having people associate with me now as who I was - I don’t know - it’s sort of unfulfilling to me. I know people try to honor my change, but sometimes that history of who I was still plays a key role in their interaction with me. And yet, why do I come back? Why do I hold onto the connection? Is it the core person reaching out for friendship? Unfortunately, the reach, or perhaps the attempt, is affected by bias, discrimination, and fear.

As I wrote those last words, some old coworkers walked by on their way to lunch. Only one person recognized me as they strolled by, with him asking the others, “You know who that is, don’t you?” I heard one of them softly ask him, “Who is that?” A few were shocked - to say the least, but they put that aside to spend a little time eating lunch with me. There were a few casually curious questions, but I didn’t feel uncomfortable at all - well, maybe a little nervous at first. They also tend to use my old nickname - because it unfortunately still works - but which I prefer not to be called. Oh well.

After flying into the Midwest last night, I hung out in a mall (finding this awesome little navy blue hoodie that I’ve been searching for...as well as browsing some nice clothes and jackets in Nordstrom’s) to kill a little time before catching up with three old friends. Eleven years ago, I lived with three guys when I found a job out of college. I had attended college with two of them, and one of them went to high school with the fourth. So, at that time, it was the four of us living in a small town working as engineers right out of college. Joe had already been there a year, and Jamie had been around for about 8 months when Craig and I moved in. We had a fun time - although we did keep the place looking pretty good for four young people. All three of them ended up marrying a local girl and having children. Joe and Craig both moved on to a larger city while Jamie stayed put. They average their 2.3 children now and live in very nice houses with well paying jobs. They are everything that men in their mid-30’s are supposed to be. I’m glad I found myself, though - sparing the destruction of a possible family. And yet, I wonder if the family instinct, particularly the children aspect of it, will ever kick in. Psychologically, I still feel very young, yet still fairly mature.

Craig mentioned that he had escaped from “bath night” by hanging out with the group. He dreaded the two-hour torture of washing his son and daughter. I asked how it took two hours to wash two kids, and he said that his daughter had to take a shower and take all of her kitchen toys in there - and she made him shower, too. And then he had to apply this lotion on her, which left grease spots on the walls whenever she bounced off of them. He absolutely dreaded “bath night” as it ate up his own free time - time he needed to unwind and relax from a stressful job. All of them liked having some time free from the family and job stress, but yet, they wouldn’t trade anything to give up what they have. They say they dread certain parts of it, but one day they’ll look back and reminisce about all of it. We all move forward, though, pausing to look back at times just as a reminder of where we’ve been.