I step out and onto the pavement. The sun glares at my face. The blue skies clear. The crisp air hits my nose. I’m alive. I’m out here. It seems like forever. I pull up my GPS. Lee Highway it says. I walk where I see the sign. I’m singing to myself, glad to have made it out of the manufactured tower, the hotel room turned home, the circulated air that churns and twists its way through zig-zagging pipes, mazing their ways into and out of each cubicle-like home. Concrete jungle in winter. Is there anything more depressing than this?
I searched the internet “cool neighborhoods DC”. I wanted to find the artists, the creatives, the musicians, the city art, graffiti, the dirt, real life, character, life. I read of Dupont Circle, Logan Circle, Columbia Heights, Eastern Market. And somewhere in the various articles that I skimmed through, I saw something about U Street, “The Harlem of DC”. Well since I used to live in Harlem, Harlem, like New York City Harlem, I thought to myself, “That’s it”. Uncertain as to how or where, I chose to take a twenty minute subway ride instead of an hour, besides, the point was to be outside in the fresh air, seeing and remembering life, right? So adding more minutes inside a tube soaring past stops, time traveling into the past and future, laminate seats that haven’t been updated from their funky seventies colors is just not what I’m here for.
Let me preface by saying, I’m on a visit to DC. Funded by my sister who knows me, loves me, and wants to help me out. I’ve been sinking into a sort of depression again. Well, not sort of, it’s real. I’ve been here before so it is familiar. I know what this is and it’s not a fun place to be. It takes a lot to recover and it’s a super painful process. The thing that frustrates me is I thought I was over this. I thought I wouldn’t go here again. I thought I was on the other side. And I guess the fact that I have this awareness at this moment does say something. I am able to reach out for help in ways that I did not know before. I have tools I can use with myself that I did not have before. I also have a community of people on the path of healing who know me and love me and are encouraging this process. These people who are kicking butt and taking names, who are living their truth, being authentic, and open and free with themselves and the world. That is who I want to be. And for whatever reason, I’m not there yet.
I’m sitting on the sidelines watching the game go by. I’m not playing. I’m on the team, I’m here, I’ve practiced, but I’m not putting it into action. And it’s my choice. What am I holding back for? Why am I not speaking up and standing up for myself, putting myself out there? What am I so afraid of? And it’s not just myself that I hold back, it’s the reason I’m here, my message that I stifle, it’s my divine mission, my purpose, my place here and now, my divine nature. And that shit hurts. Like, aching in my chest, shortness of breath, forgetting to breathe, mind-bursting, headache-inducing hurts
So yes, it’s like a freezing in my chest. I feel it strongly. And since I’ve began to study this world, I know it too well. The chakras. Energy. Vibration. Thought. Intention. This is all real. My heart feels wounded. And what seems to be happening is that there is a tendency to ice it over. To shield it. To cover it all up and protect myself. To retreat. To hide and go back. To curl up. To stop participating. And I know to well what this means. This is not a place I wish to return. It is death, ultimately. It is a slow but sure process of the undo-ing of your life work, your fabric, your potential. It is sitting in misery and allowing your mind to be cluttered by garbage, by useless information and “What ifs” and worse case scenarios that never actually happen.
This is for real. And it’s wild to share about, but so so necessary. As I am on this healing journey, and I know I am not alone. If you are reading this, you are probably there, too.
So I choose Logan circle and I hit the streets. I walk up to a woman to ask for a quick re-direct towards the metro, once I find my way off of the side-of-the-highway roads and am into what looks like a downtown area. She flinches a bit and steps back. Her timid eyes blinking behind her glasses as she clutches her accordion folder against her chest. Just because I want to ask a question. I choose love instead. I smile, “Hi, good morning, do you know where the nearest subway stop is?” It seems she is surprised by my friendliness, and points me around the corner towards a “detour” sign. I thank her and continue on. U street in mind. Not sure why or where, on the road.
My sister said she had charged the metro pass so I tapped it. I tapped it. I tapped it. Insufficient fare. Okay, let me go figure this out. I have no money to my name, so I charge it to a credit card that I have somehow managed to continue to pay. This is bad. Not a good situation. No money, A couple thousand dollars in debt. No job. Depression sinking in. What the hell is to come of this? I don’t know but I’m off to U Street.
I get off at Logan circle and follow the sun up the most tree-lined street I can find. There’s a park, trees, I am thankful. This city reminds me of Boston. I studied there in college and this was bringing me back. I find Vermont Avenue, an axis running diagonally, intersecting the parallel city streets, branching off and out of the the center city. There is something about the design of this place. I heard once that it mimics the layout of Paris. Not sure, but there is definitely a familiarity to it.
The letters move up the alphabet as I walk north - L - M - N. I wonder if I should be walking this much as my knee is still a bit injured from my walk across Spain. Yes, walk ACROSS Spain. The Camino de Santiago. I’ve been back for just over three weeks. This could explain a lot of what I’m going through here. Q-R-S-T. Getting closer, I can feel it. I see the lego block high rises turn to Victorian homes turn to colorfully painted, San Francisco-esque front-yard-garden-patio-with-mix-matched-patio-furniture-and-empty-flower-pots row houses. I like this place. I begin to take pictures. I can feel it happening. Old school mixed with new school. I’m coming home. I walk up to the crossing, U Street. I’ve made it. This is just the beginning.
I searched the internet “cool neighborhoods DC”. I wanted to find the artists, the creatives, the musicians, the city art, graffiti, the dirt, real life, character, life. I read of Dupont Circle, Logan Circle, Columbia Heights, Eastern Market. And somewhere in the various articles that I skimmed through, I saw something about U Street, “The Harlem of DC”. Well since I used to live in Harlem, Harlem, like New York City Harlem, I thought to myself, “That’s it”. Uncertain as to how or where, I chose to take a twenty minute subway ride instead of an hour, besides, the point was to be outside in the fresh air, seeing and remembering life, right? So adding more minutes inside a tube soaring past stops, time traveling into the past and future, laminate seats that haven’t been updated from their funky seventies colors is just not what I’m here for.
Let me preface by saying, I’m on a visit to DC. Funded by my sister who knows me, loves me, and wants to help me out. I’ve been sinking into a sort of depression again. Well, not sort of, it’s real. I’ve been here before so it is familiar. I know what this is and it’s not a fun place to be. It takes a lot to recover and it’s a super painful process. The thing that frustrates me is I thought I was over this. I thought I wouldn’t go here again. I thought I was on the other side. And I guess the fact that I have this awareness at this moment does say something. I am able to reach out for help in ways that I did not know before. I have tools I can use with myself that I did not have before. I also have a community of people on the path of healing who know me and love me and are encouraging this process. These people who are kicking butt and taking names, who are living their truth, being authentic, and open and free with themselves and the world. That is who I want to be. And for whatever reason, I’m not there yet.
I’m sitting on the sidelines watching the game go by. I’m not playing. I’m on the team, I’m here, I’ve practiced, but I’m not putting it into action. And it’s my choice. What am I holding back for? Why am I not speaking up and standing up for myself, putting myself out there? What am I so afraid of? And it’s not just myself that I hold back, it’s the reason I’m here, my message that I stifle, it’s my divine mission, my purpose, my place here and now, my divine nature. And that shit hurts. Like, aching in my chest, shortness of breath, forgetting to breathe, mind-bursting, headache-inducing hurts
So yes, it’s like a freezing in my chest. I feel it strongly. And since I’ve began to study this world, I know it too well. The chakras. Energy. Vibration. Thought. Intention. This is all real. My heart feels wounded. And what seems to be happening is that there is a tendency to ice it over. To shield it. To cover it all up and protect myself. To retreat. To hide and go back. To curl up. To stop participating. And I know to well what this means. This is not a place I wish to return. It is death, ultimately. It is a slow but sure process of the undo-ing of your life work, your fabric, your potential. It is sitting in misery and allowing your mind to be cluttered by garbage, by useless information and “What ifs” and worse case scenarios that never actually happen.
This is for real. And it’s wild to share about, but so so necessary. As I am on this healing journey, and I know I am not alone. If you are reading this, you are probably there, too.
So I choose Logan circle and I hit the streets. I walk up to a woman to ask for a quick re-direct towards the metro, once I find my way off of the side-of-the-highway roads and am into what looks like a downtown area. She flinches a bit and steps back. Her timid eyes blinking behind her glasses as she clutches her accordion folder against her chest. Just because I want to ask a question. I choose love instead. I smile, “Hi, good morning, do you know where the nearest subway stop is?” It seems she is surprised by my friendliness, and points me around the corner towards a “detour” sign. I thank her and continue on. U street in mind. Not sure why or where, on the road.
My sister said she had charged the metro pass so I tapped it. I tapped it. I tapped it. Insufficient fare. Okay, let me go figure this out. I have no money to my name, so I charge it to a credit card that I have somehow managed to continue to pay. This is bad. Not a good situation. No money, A couple thousand dollars in debt. No job. Depression sinking in. What the hell is to come of this? I don’t know but I’m off to U Street.
I get off at Logan circle and follow the sun up the most tree-lined street I can find. There’s a park, trees, I am thankful. This city reminds me of Boston. I studied there in college and this was bringing me back. I find Vermont Avenue, an axis running diagonally, intersecting the parallel city streets, branching off and out of the the center city. There is something about the design of this place. I heard once that it mimics the layout of Paris. Not sure, but there is definitely a familiarity to it.
The letters move up the alphabet as I walk north - L - M - N. I wonder if I should be walking this much as my knee is still a bit injured from my walk across Spain. Yes, walk ACROSS Spain. The Camino de Santiago. I’ve been back for just over three weeks. This could explain a lot of what I’m going through here. Q-R-S-T. Getting closer, I can feel it. I see the lego block high rises turn to Victorian homes turn to colorfully painted, San Francisco-esque front-yard-garden-patio-with-mix-matched-patio-furniture-and-empty-flower-pots row houses. I like this place. I begin to take pictures. I can feel it happening. Old school mixed with new school. I’m coming home. I walk up to the crossing, U Street. I’ve made it. This is just the beginning.
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