It’s been a steady pace to keep my steps between these cracks on Broadway
And my stride in rhythm to the beat of home, sweet home
-Alison Krauss and Union Station
I sang that song at my high school graduation – looking back, it was a rather macabre and melancholy choice, but one with more foresight than I could have imagined. The photo above is rather ominous, but I had to include it – it captured the Stampede Grandstand before it got a summer deluge. I’ve been home for the last week for my dear friend’s wedding, and the happy storm that is the life I left in the Bay Area is being usurped by dry, crisp air and the occasional prairie thundershower.
Coming home used to be a scary thing. I left Calgary to go on new adventures and start anew, and coming home meant a break in pace, and the fear of running into folks I’m afraid I’ve let down. It’s a funny feeling, to be in your hometown and worry about seeing faces of people long forgotten, or at least relegated to the back corner of your brain that holds awkward adolescent memories and painful breakups.
I told this story to someone at the wedding over the weekend: When I was in Junior High, I thought it was silly that the boys had to ask the girls to dance, as it was inefficient. As a result, I was often the sole seventh grade girl asking the boys to dance. One dance mid-way through the year, however, all I got were nos. A no from every boy I asked. As it later turned out, those boys had made a pact to say no.
I don’t know why I just wrote about that. This post seems to be coming off the rails.
Slowly, this city is becoming mine again, with every visit I am more comfortable in my own skin and better equipped to run into those faces that scare junior high me. It keeps getting easier to come home, even when things are uncertain. For good measure, here’s that song I was referencing: