Hello from somewhere in the middle of nowhere. It's hot as hell and twice as dry, as befits the “Sunniest City on Earth,” but at least the view is nice. And by view, I mean the one from here in the middle of the Colorado River as it meanders down to the Gulf of Mexico. Lush folds of greenery with small carve-outs for sandy beaches and rock formations sit along both banks while the setting sun paints the surrounding structures in silhouette against a brilliant orange and pink sky. It wasn't always like this.
In the 1890s, the Colorado river ran a fast channel through the mountains of Colorado, the canyons of Utah and Arizona, before forming a broad, rough river that only slowed as you entered the lower deserts. By the 1990s, as it passed through Yuma and the other cities of the Sonoran desert, the Colorado was not someplace you wanted to spend much time. The accessible banks housed the disenfranchised, the lost, and the experimental. Anyone playing in the waters risked getting sick or injured in any number of gruesome ways.
But that's changed. These days the wetland parks provide swimming holes and fishing spots along with hiking trails and kayaking expeditions. It's rather pleasant. And I'm so damned jealous.
Here's how the script is supposed to go: the prodigal leaves town, has adventures. Upon returning, horizons broadened and hard-won knowledge at the ready, the townsfolk throw themselves upon the traveler. Tell us of all you have seen while we who stayed tell you about what has changed. In the end, the traveler learns that one can never go home again because the home you left ceases to exist the moment you leave. You can never again be the same person you were when you lived there.
But they're not supposed to improve the damn place. New construction, fresh paint on old construction, cleaned up housing projects and trailer parks, cutesy shops with the latest in handcrafted local goods sitting side-by-side with the latest and greatest offerings from the big brands of the cities...it's all better than it was, much better.
Maybe I should have stayed?
No, of course not. If I had then I wouldn't be who I am today and while there may be plusses and minuses to that, there are more of the latter than there are of the former, so best to leave well enough alone. At the same time, it makes for an odd sort of tourism.
Anyone who's left for further shores knows the peculiar tourism that consists of driving around thinking, "That's not how it used to be. When did they put that in? What happened to [store once loved, now an empty storefront]?" It's a heady mix of nostalgia and FOMO1. One that suggests that it was better back when and yet something important was missed by not being present for all the changes.
But I couldn't wait to get out of this town. I looked at older friends who set out on their own only to return home, to live with parents, to work dead-end jobs, to end up right back where they started, only worse because they'd dared to believe they could escape. But I bided my time, played my cards right and moved out of my home town never to move back.
Then they went and improved the place. There's more to do, more to see, more to enjoy than when I lived here. The thought creeps in - maybe it's because I left? Because we all did? Because with us gone, the city was free to improve itself?
It's a ridiculous thought, of course. The city is no more capable of improving itself than the desert is of fertilizing itself. Both results require the action of living beings participating in the work of the world. But the thought persists - maybe you can't go home again because they don't actually want you there?
That's the premise behind a ton of classic movies, right? What are you doing back here? You were out, you should have stayed out. You were gone, you should get that way again.
This, too, is a ridiculous thought. I wouldn't be back if there were not people to see, to hug, to hang out with. I wouldn't be back, even temporarily, if there were not new things to do and see and experience or re-experience.
So, I've been busy, doing just that, getting to know my home town all over again. It's a nice place to visit, maybe I ought to try living here.
Fear of Missing Out
Gotta say, your perspective of photography is just love💛
Wow, that felt personal. I mean, to me. So many questions I've asked myself over and over.
Absolutely loved this.