A tree to hug

The other night I went out to walk and got only a few blocks away, knowing I had errands to run, and decided to change my plan.

I didn't need the Suburbs. I'd been walking enough, freeing my mind enough, enjoying the 'burbs enough, that I could finally stay close to home and walk in a city park.

I chose the one closest to my home, that also happens to be the most popular, the most beautiful.
I haven't been there much because it has steep hills and a "lake" and I'm probably too cautious when I'm alone with the girls but I worry ...

I was mid-walk, shoulders falling away from my ears, when I remembered all the pre-children walks we had in that park. I looked up and realized I was surrounded by dozens and dozens of big, beautiful, wise trees. These beauties came to life right before my eyes.

Not spending enough time in nature over the last 2.5 years has gotten to me, I guess, and I've been slightly obsessed with trees. They now adorn our living room, this blog banner and anything else I can find. Journals, necklaces (though, the girls broke it).

It occurred to me during this walk that I've been scurrying out to the suburbs in search of something that I could actually find closer to home, in the city. Those metro-area parks have their highlights that I love, but they are, without a doubt, mostly treeless. Or, the trees are still babies, memorializing someone's life.

I walked under the trees; they embraced my worries and troubles. They held me close as I realized that I'm not really searching to be outside the city; I'm searching to be a part of something.

That, in effect, has always summed up my existence. We moved to the city to make a difference.

As I thought about this I realized that living in the city is only great if you leave it, and often. The more you are here, the more it can work at your nerves. And I'm here a lot. All the time, in fact.

But, if I lived in Suburbia -- and I will eventually -- I'll want to be in the city. I'll miss those trees, the walks to the farmer's markets and downtown events. Those new, mixed-use communities are on to something. It's what feels right. Open space, everything you need in one spot and community that is close to home.

Community. That's what I was all about until I became a mother. Even in high school I was someone who wanted the best for everyone, not just a few. In the back of my mind I have remained that woman, but it's been hard to juggle it all. I wonder how I'll be able to let go of my mother-self to help represent all people, including the childless, in my new job.

During an interview with a source this week for my very last freelance gig, he told me about how he sent his three children through city schools, and how they had fears going in about being bullied or not faring well, academically.

In the end, he said, "We decided not to fall prey to our imagined fears." They left the door open for an easy exit ... but they never needed it. The kids are nearly all grown up.

That is staying with me. I have a lot of imagined fears. I guess I have a lot of imagined promises, too. If I've learned anything, the let down of imagined promises is much harder to bear.

My mom lives in a very rural location in the mountains of Georgia. She's mentioned a neighborhood bear. (Oh, god). I am sure it will be beautiful, and a welcome relief from city life. I'm open to this welcomed relief, knowing that rural settings actually scare me at night. I like being able to see my feet when I walk.

I recall long ago, when my brother was in middle school, he wrote an essay that declared, "I hate the city."

That statement hurt me not because of his honesty but because he didn't know the city. He's never spent anytime here. None of my family really has. Or any city for that matter.

Cities get a bad rap and it's frustrating. People hate on the cities and yet get mad because developers are buying up farmland to build more new houses.

Our city has plenty of available housing. Just waiting.

Waiting for people to love on its gigantic, old trees.

Waiting for people to get over their imagined fears.


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A Walk With A View

Nature walking has proven to be magical. In fact, I cannot recommend this enough to any mother out there who is also struggling with poor self-esteem and isolation.

So, yeah, self-esteem. I hadn't mentioned that, had I?

I have a low one. It's a deceivingly low one. As long as I am setting goals and striving for them -- and making some here and there -- I am OK. But the second things don't go my way, I look in the mirror and start blaming. Myself. Others. Mother Earth. You name it.

Anyway, walking has become my time. I've even found a way to mix it in with errands so that I'm not wasting gas -- because I drive to my walking destination. Monday I walked before a moms night out dinner. Tonight I walked and then hit the grocery store that's along the route to the park.

Cake.

Why didn't I do this sooner, I was wondering?

Easy. Life just was different. It's always different -- even when it's the same. The girls were born in the dead of winter. That spring and summer I worked outside the home. That fall, when I became a SAHM, I started freelancing and just relished my time with the girls. Winter came and went and my freelancing became my priority.

Essentially, I stopped thinking about me and only thought about my career as a writer.

A month ago, I stopped writing for money. At first it felt great. Then I was feeling inadequate. And now I'm trying to come to terms with this new life of not being a professional writer anymore. Just being a mom and a socially conscious woman who loves to write. I think this is who I wanted to be when I grew up. I'm letting these posts be whatever they are going to be now, too ... which is a mess, I realize, but my mind is a mess so it's all good.

Walking alone in a busy park -- preferably near really nice houses that appear perfect -- is my sweet spot. I like the longest trails I can find so I can't cut it short. I like a nice average walk, right now, because really I am in no hurry. If I lose some pounds walking I'll be happy but that's not my motivation.

My destination is also important. I walk all the time in our city. Walking has always been my sanity as a mother. In fact, I once walked the entire span of the west side one morning in search of yard sales that never existed. I am always the only mother walking her kids. I am always an outcast. I'm stared at because I am the mom with the really nice jogging stroller. Oh, and who has two girls who look very much alike and, oh, "Are they twins?"

And, to be brutally honest because that's my place right now, I am the only white, educated mom walking.

Basically, I'm a freak when I walk near my home. I've never fit in and will never fit in and that doesn't stop me from walking. In fact, I wore freakdom proudly yesterday as I donned a Maine Moose T-shirt -- just for my girls. Gawd, who knows who drove past! I never think about that until three days later someone at the grocery store says, "I saw you walking!"

So ... my purposeful walk in the suburbs is important for me. I love seeing the high school kids playing soccer and baseball, whole families riding bikes, newly married couples walking hand-in-hand and the aging walking their dogs or with their canes.

They all seem so normal. They aren't sitting on the curb, waiting for the homeless shelter to serve its next meal. They aren't standing on the corner looking suspicious. They aren't cursing across the street. They aren't smoking and carrying a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. They don't glare or even turn their head.

No, they smile. They say hello.

I had forgotten these images. I had forgotten the smell of trees. I had forgotten the sound of laughter. I had forgotten about the sound of a bicycle bell, and scooter wheels rolling on pavement. I had forgotten that whole families went out at dusk to get exercise.

These are not things I see and hear in my neighborhood. I see and hear many good things near my home, but lately those things haven't been enough for me. That sense of community is missing. Just another face in a sea of faces. Just another body in a crowd of thousands.

No wonder I've felt so alone.


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