Tag: South

Making Friends

I am set on making friends with the South, a daunting task to bend my stubborn soul and to see beauty where I refuse to look.  The trail, as always, is where I do my work, where I untangle the threads of disappointment, anger, trauma, and loss…The trail, as always, is where I weave a new story of hope, strength and courage.

The trail, here, in summer, is hostile and fierce, with its burning sun and air that tears open my lungs, with its biting insects and afternoon rain; it is an unlikely solace.  This is my story, my truth, the yarn I use to convince myself to wait, a little longer.  The real truth, the truth I am not yet ready to know- it is my anger burning, my mind searing and my heart biting.  I am still bathing in my disappointment and grief, not ready or willing to leave it with the trail. I want to soak in it a little longer, use it to fuel scraping the deck and hacking weeds- I need the power of my anger to conquer the years of neglect my new home has suffered.

I tell myself the fall will be a good time to begin a new journey, a journey to shed this cloak of wrath.  I promise myself cooler air, distant sun, glowing trees of orange and yellow, biting things to bed for the season, this will be the right time to ease my soul.  Fall is the right time to put this wrath to sleep for the winter.

So, this is the day, I decide, out on my deck, oversized cup of coffee twice heated, cooling while I take in the fall of the South.  This is the day, the last week of November, crisp air, sun warm on my back, lawnmower in the distance.  This is the day, shuffling leaves, driven by a gentle breeze carrying hints of wood smoke and earth.  This is the day, chattering squirrels, frantic in their final prospect to store acorns.  This is the day, glorious trees, oh the trees, the magnificent trees, oranges, yellows, reds, radiant in the sun, glowing against the cobalt backdrop.  This is the day I will begin my journey.

I know today, for the first time, that I will find peace in this land, in the stillness of this place where I can slow, write, walk, and settle, even in late November.  I am suddenly grateful to be here, today, despite my struggle, despite the difficulties I have found in this land.  Today I am grateful that my new-found solitude has, in return, offered me a chance to settle and find peace.

Struggling with the South

I am struggling, stewing in a pot of negativity.  I am at odds, wrestling with the South, wrestling with what is and what is not here in this land called Tennessee.

Freshly arrived with the mountain scent of the North still deep in my lungs.  Freshly arrived, yet here long enough to feel the prickle of heat, the friction from the differences.  The beliefs in my soul, the values in my heart, grating like sandpaper against all that stands proud in the south.

Every exploration into this new world uncovering an assault to humanity- racism, disingenuous greetings, religiosity devoid of spirituality.  The true assault comes from pride in these ways, the pride in the façade thinly veiling the ugliness.  It all seems too much, too disappointing, too difficult to overcome.

So now I search; embark on a journey to make peace with the south.  I must settle my soul and shake hands with the south.  We must become friends before I am unable to emerge from this chasm.  I must find the south I can embrace, or at the least, be present with positivity.  I long to be my true self once again and shed the negativity I have cultivated in this unfamiliar land.

I have a history with this land; the south is not new to me.   It has been a place to rest my weary soul.  It has been a space to slow and re-center.  I have taken refuge in the pace here, where hurry is an unwelcomed interruption in cadence of life.

I have rocked on a porch swing for hours, days, reading to my children, watching fireflies, listening to whippoorwills, going very still as deer enter the yard.  I have delighted in dancing cardinals, bright pillows of cotton freshly popped in their bowls, and honeysuckle exploding from the ditches with its sweetness stirring me from daydreams.  Respite from the hustle of life in the north, the south of my children’s childhood is the south I want again.

Now here to work, to grow and experience again this south, I am undone.  This south proves to be weary of stranger and unhospitable behind the façade of hospitality.  It is an ingenuine pretense of kindness without depth or generosity.  Smiles veil hypocrisy and rhinestones dazzle to cover racial motivations. Civility drips off of tongues devoid of innocence humility or humanity.  On every corner sits a church with large white doors sealed tightly to keep in the brotherly love.

So here I am, confounded and devastated, grappling, reaching and searching for peace.  I must make a truce with this land of antagonistic gentility.  I must make friends with this south, find beauty and peace, and perhaps grow to once again love this land.