I fell in love with a town that puts Christmas lights on all the telephone poles.
A town that is quiet and doesn’t get in a hurry. A city with fingers that lift from steering wheels and heads that dip slightly as the cars pass. On a street where my children can be loud while they race their bikes up and down. In a neighborhood where the old folks make rice crispy treats for the kids on Halloween. In a neighborhood where my neighbors are now part of the family. In a community where everyone seems to look out for one another. Even the ladies at the Dollar General remember my name.
This town is healing something in me.
It sounds dramatic I know, but I swear something broke loose inside me when we moved. I felt stifled, rigid and stagnant. I felt on edge, uncomfortable, and aloof. It felt like wearing an itchy wool sweater I could never take off. Honestly, we didn’t even move far. Just an interstate drive away. I had been in the city we moved from my whole life. I still drive in to work and frequent there, but it feels different now. It doesn’t feel like home. It feels so busy and loud and chaotic. It feels like walking into a crowded store on Black Friday (the old school Black Friday, you know what I mean). There are too many people, doing too many things, only concerned with themselves, walking fast and bumping shoulders to get to their destination. There are some really nice people in there, but even they get drowned in the suffocating sea of busy.
The town we live in now, my town, feels like being tucked into bed after a long, hard day. It feels like crawling under smooth, soft blankets for a mid afternoon nap. The kind of naps when the sun lights your room, but only a little. When you are both chilly and warm, and you can relax just enough to sink into sleep. It feels like a gift that was given to my family. It feels like a space of solace, carved out just for us when we needed it most.
I fell in love with a town that puts Christmas lights on all the telephone poles, and that town is healing something in me.