When you leave pieces of yourself in places or with people, it fundamentally does the soul good to go back and visit those pieces from time to time. And there’s no question, not-insignificant pieces of my heart and spirit continue to reside inside the Beltway… this amazing, vibrant, weighty city where I first began to catch glimmers of the woman I would become. I lived in four different places during my 3.5 years in DC, so there’s no particular physical location that tugs me back — if there were, it would probably be 1828 L Street NW or the steps of the Lincoln Memorial — which is somewhat unusual for me. Instead, the whole city feels imprinted on my heart.
Much of what I want to do, on these short and all-too-infrequent drops back into town, is drive around and feel the memories wash over me, to feel the energy and youthful optimism that characterized my years there. I enjoy driving up MacArthur Blvd and remembering my drives to and from Mark’s house, frequently made well past any reasonable bedtime (as is the college student’s duty). I like navigating my way up and down Canal Road, eyeing the Potomac and wondering about eyeballs in asses. I want to drive the GW Parkway, just ’cause it’s gorgeous, go up Independence Ave and back down Constitution Ave, all the while letting my eyes feast on the magnificent structures in which the lofty decisions are made. And, when I can manage it, a nice supplement to the downtown driving is a jaunt up Connecticut Ave to the hill where the Mormon Temple sits… because revisiting the hilltop I called home for much of two years reminds me of Christmastime lights, of navigating my father + Uhaul to perform a Liz extraction, of Huxley and Bailey, of Parking Garage Guy, of time spent in the darkroom, of turning 21, and so, so much more.
Whenever I’m feeling stressed out, yanked in a million directions and hence somewhat rootless, these trips back to the places where I became me have an incredibly palliative effect. In reminding me how I got here, they also clear out some of the distractionary clutter, reminding me of what’s important — and what’s not. They strengthen my roots, which breaks up the stagnation and enables ever-greater growth. Perhaps this truth is not universal, but it certainly is mine: I cannot move forward without a regular dose of rearview-mirror inspection.
So that’s what I’m here for: Revisiting this incredibly personal, indescribably important place, reconnecting with my cord buddy, and reminding myself how to keep pushing forward, when so many forces in my life frequently feel they’re holding me in place. I’ll see some art, pay J-Rob a visit, ride Le Metro (and hum, to myself, “Addison Road”), load up on GW merch, eat lots of Ledo Pizza, and have some needed time to gear up for the difficult weeks ahead.
So that’s the plan. I can’t wait to feel the warm embrace of the Beltway… an old friend too infrequently visited since we became long-distant amis.