There’s not much to do in Muscatine besides be outside. I went on a walk tonight, and it helped clear my mind of all the struggles that I had found myself having this weekend. Friday seemed like a never-ending nightmare. I dealt with a lot of personal issues, and struggled to cope with the weather that was preventing everything coming together. I woke up on Saturday, and rode to the airport with the feeling that nothing could get worse. Everything seemed to pale in comparison to the events that unfolded at LGA. TSA taking a long time didn’t matter. The clouds were picture-esque. I was randomly upgraded to first class. Saturday felt so blissful that I caught myself listening to “Bubbly” by Colbie Caillat.
As soon as I got home, I made sure to relax. One way I found myself relaxing was through walking. I won’t lie, I get sentimental when I return home to Muscatine. People stop and say hi to you in the grocery store line. If you see someone you know while driving, they will honk and yell your name. You hear from your mom that someone saw you somewhere and that they send their best wishes. In one way or another, you are hyperaware of your impact. Nothing really changes here, and that includes the paths you take.
I walked down the hill to the historical portion of Muscatine tonight. There isn’t much history of the original town left, but there’s still all the memories I crafted here. My dad and I would walk across the town, and stop at the sprinkler by the riverfront to cool down. The Mississippi River is dirty, but when you’re a kid, it doesn’t matter. Every year, the river floods the entire downtown. The same downtown that housed the horses that would take you all around. The same downtown that housed the building where you attended the meeting for the China trip. The same downtown that has seen thousands of visitors before you.
History has a funny way of repeating itself, and I wrote about the continuation of time while I was in Rome. During my studies, I would frequent a bar outside the Colosseum. One night, I found myself angered by a tourist's choice to pee on the training grounds outside the Colosseum. So many years of history were just desecrated by some drunk guy — who the hell was he? It wasn’t until I sobered up that I began to wonder: how many people had peed on it before? How many people took the same path, and decided it was the best hole-in-the-ground toilet? Many people, including Roman soldiers, likely used the space for many things. All the roads lead to Rome, and it was at that instant that I stopped trying to control everything. I was going to say something, but I bit my tongue, because the truth is that our paths will never cross again. Why should I try to alter his?
TJL