Rediscovering Memphis

I had a plan. I had planned to document my drive from Chicago to Los Angeles as a meditative practice. I did so on the first day. After that, the plan was shirked in the blogosphere because, well...I wanted to enjoy the drive and found that there was a bit too much, and a bit too little, to record. So, I condensed. If I were to follow my path of travel, it would be done so in a silly photo-documentary of a Mr. Potatohead adventure pictoral that I sent to a friend, who was kind enough to indulge.

Even in writing, in whatever form, plans change. Rather than write of the journey, I find myself wanting to write of the discovery of places.

Rediscovering Memphis:

I never realized how pretty Memphis is. Driving into the city, and in retrospect, I was struck. How pretty is this city with which I have held such loyalty and itchy discomfort? The people and friendships I had built here in my early 20's are pristine. I have never known such a loving, caring and strong community before nor since, yet I have memories of the city as one of complete disarray and discontent. I remember a strong pulse of anger and segregation in some areas, combatted by a calming reminder of those who persevere and stand strong to negate that pulse with beauty, stoicism and resolve. Perhaps I never realized how pretty the city is simply because I'd never been a visitor. My introduction to this city and community is framed in a leather biker jacket, screaming out windows, falling hopelessly in love with impossible relationships, and running back to NYC to nurse the wounds of a failed glimpse at a potential life I could have absorbed, wondering about the "what if" life that I now live.

As a visitor, I found myself not as a guest, but returning family. What a relief and release to return to the success of my dear friends, the continued success and expansion of Playhouse on the Square, who brought me out there in the first place, at the tender age of 22, when I was young, a little lost, and over the top. I learned so much in this city, and I am incorrect to eulogize my memory, as it is still in the texture of both my experience, and the transcriptions of some of the best friendships I have ever been lucky enough to hold dear. Memphis never forgets. Memphis may skirt, but her memory is long and open. A city of true revelry and significance and a slow burn of expansion that clings lovingly to it's own history, despite the discomfort of the pain that lingers as a texture of experience and the process of change.