I'm channeling your wooded neighborhoods and historic mansions through some Bon Iver. I listened to Bon Iver almost religiously while living in Athens so whenever I hear Justin Vernon's melancholy vocals, all I need to do is close my eyes and I can see the sunlight filtering through the blinds in my bedroom, the tree in front of our old townhome casting leafy shadows. I recall the musty smell of an old home whose windows were painted shut and never opened in the almost two full years we lived there.
Athens, you were both kind and mean to me. Kind in your generous array of activities and delicious restaurants. Kind in your historical Southern charm. Kind in your friendly people. Mean in your life lessons. Mean in the harshness with which you thrust me into reality. Mean in your loneliness and isolation.
I hated you when we were together but now that we've had some distance- hindsight is 20/20. I see you clearly now.
As a newly married, recently graduated young woman, I was ready for the next big adventure. I was excited for a new town, new faces, a new place to discover.
I wasn't ready for the rejection, isolation, and plain confusion about my life's direction.
But, honestly, I've gotten over that now. I can see you clearly and I think as the years continue to pass my vision will become sharper and sharper regarding this period in my life.
You were the first place I truly created a home with my husband. We learned to rely on each other here. We were literally hundreds of miles away from any of our relatives. We hated being away from family but there was a closeness born in that isolation and I'm grateful for developing that closeness early in our marriage.
I was lonely with you, Athens. You forced me out from behind friends, family, school assignments, and a general curtain of everything that I understood to be the norm and bore me naked before myself. When your jobs repeatedly rejected me, my self-esteem dropped. When I had a hard time making friends, I questioned my worth. When Brenden was away for hours every day and I was alone with myself, I realized I didn't like who I was. Alone and stripped of everything I thought made up who I was, I was forced to confront myself with all layers peeled away-- this soft, tender thing I didn't know what to do with.
Athens, you helped me remember that I am a creative being. I don't mean creative in the generic artistic sense of creativity; but I mean to actual create things, to build, to make, to produce. To be happy, I must create. When I was alone, I would write and draw and paint and sew. Hobbies I had forgotten, I discovered anew.
I also spent a lot of time thinking when we were together, Athens. I grew closer to my Savior. I found joy in service. I really came to love the temple when I lived with you. The Atlanta temple will always hold a special place in my heart. Thank you for helping me rediscover myself through my relationship with my Savior and Heavenly Father.
Occasionally, when I'm feeling nostalgic, I'll check out the my_athens hashtag on instagram. Today I was missing your autumns and I looked you up on there. I saw pictures of your fiery trees against blue skies, your historic buildings, your classic campus, your quirky restaurants and stores. I missed you even more.
Oh, Athens. You were named after the city that was home to the academy of Plato and Aristotle. You were destined to be a place of learning. Thank you for your lessons. You continue to teach me as I reflect on my time with you.
Athens, I love you.
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