Meanderings

Saturday night, I drove down to Clear Lake to hear my friend's band play.  The drive south from downtown took about 45 minutes, and threw me down memory lane a little bit. This little 'burb south of Houston (think NASA) was home for the first year that J and I were married.  I had never lived anywhere except Arkansas when we moved, so I wasn't quite ready for the seasons that exist near the coast.  Or maybe I should say I wasn't ready for the lack of seasons, because really, there are only two seasons down here - Season #1, Hot, and Season #2, Rainy.  I suppose if you get Hot and Rainy at the same time, you get Season #3, Nasty...

We first moved down to Clear Lake in the summer of 1998, and it really wasn't that bad; it just seemed to rain a lot and occasionally it felt like we needed gills to breathe.  See Season #3, above.  But eventually the season turned and we encountered our first Houston "winter."  I kind of choke on that word a little - I'm not sure you can legitimately call it winter.  The warm humid air coming off the coast ensured that my definition of winter was drastically and immediately altered that year. The regular appearance of short sleeved shirts and shorts seemed bizarre amidst rows of Christmas trees, and the contrast between occasional 80 degree weather and Christmas lights was a discordant jangle.  Simply put, it felt surreal.  During that first December, I listened to Christmas music almost obsessively, trying to convince myself that it really was time for the holidays.  I missed my winters. 

As I meandered through the wide divided streets Saturday night, passing lawns that were still lush and trees with plenty of green leaves, I opened my windows to the evening air. It was easy to forget that it was a December night, and after reacclimating to the colder Arkansas winters, the warm weather was comforting.  The smells coming through the open windows were familiar.  The earthy fragrance of pine needles combined with the sticky dampness of ocean air were strong reminders of life in my early 20s, that first December in Texas, and those first few years post-college when life's path was much more of a question mark than it is these days. 

Every now and then, life tosses up a type of portal that takes you back in time and reminds you of one of the many former versions of yourself.  Saturday night I found one of those portals, and for a little while, the 23-year-old version of me seemed almost approachable.  It was a bit like visiting with an old friend with whom you've lost touch. Even though we don't have a lot in common anymore, there was still enough familiar ground that we were able to shake hands, reflect for a moment, wish each other the best, and move on.  While there are aspects of that time in my life that I miss - the freedom that I didn't quite realize was there, the drive, the excitement about the paths yet untaken, just to name a few - I'm pretty content with the paths that were taken.  It was still nice to drive down those streets again for just a little while, remembering the twists and turns that were required to create the current, updated version.