It's 3:00 am and I’m standing on my balcony listening to the wind rustling the new spring leaves. It's a gentle sound, one must be quiet and still to hear it. Having lived in NYC for over 25 years, it's a sound I had forgotten. Imagine that.
When I was a child of about 10 or 11, I would sit in an old green wooden rocking chair on our front porch during late-August downpours that came on suddenly but lingered long enough for me to rock myself to a place of safety and serenity I didn’t often experience at home, school, or church.
I grew up in the south. I love the south. My soul is southern. Having wandered for decades, I have returned to the town from which I herald. Kicking and screaming the whole way. Historically, when I’ve completed a chapter of my life I like to have closure, which to me means rarely if ever returning to that which was. My early years were often filled with emotional strife, sometimes but not always of my own creation. But returning here has been an unexpected blessing for two reasons. The town has thrown off the shackles of the Civil War and is now full of vision and vitality. The second reason is that I brought with me the healing power of boundaries.
I love that I can think my own thoughts and not someone else's that have been thrust upon me. Parents, clergy, bosses, among others. My days now are filled with inward adventures. I can be the introvert I truly am and not the extrovert I thought I was.