I Can See Clearly Now

It's funny how the timing of this world works.

Less than a week ago, I was on a bus back to my apartment, staring out at 2nd avenue, thinking to myself, "I am finally getting used to this place. I think I truly can make it until December."

Little did I know that just two days later I would receive a phone call that would rock my world, and I would need to return home very soon. 

You see, when I left back for the city at the end of winter break, I had decided I was quitting Florida cold turkey. Just when I would begin getting used to the city and the way of life there, I would come back to the country and become immensely confused with life.

Who am I? Where do I belong? Where is my home? I found myself calling New York my home to many people over Christmas, and they would give me condescending looks...

Many country songs have pondered the very question I've been rattling in my brain-- By taking the girl out of the honky tonk, is the honky tonk taken out of the girl?

According to my immense life experience-- I have found it depends on where the girl is at that very moment.

When I come back home, I feel like the movie Sweet Home Alabama is my life. 

I am one version of me in the city and I am a different version of me in the south. I wish I could morph those two people together but it's like oil and vinegar--they don't mix. 

So I made a game plan in January to figure this crap out. I was bound and determined to find myself no matter what it took. I would stop social media, and stay a thousand miles away from everyone who loves me for the next ten months, I would invest myself in my schoolwork and my new friends and I would learn to appreciate the city.

And for the most part, I carried that plan out rather successfully until I found myself on a plane at JFK Sunday night, to return home and honor a man that meant so much to me. 

Things have been different this trip. I woke up Monday and went on a run in my neighborhood, realizing I'd been lying to myself that living in 20 degrees for the past 2 months was fine when I could be basking in these 70 degree Florida mornings. 

I was able to see people I love and grew up with and genuinely tell them I'm enjoying myself in the city. I spent all day yesterday in my beloved second hometown, Cedar Key, lying on the "beach," failing to consider that feet which haven't been roaming around Florida in flip flops for the past 6 months probably require some SPF protection.  

I was able to shop in the Target dollar section which is a blessed event I look forward to, since the only Target in Manhattan is all the way up in Harlem (further and sketchier than you realize), and was able to laugh at myself for still not knowing how to navigate Butler Plaza after 20 years. 

Something that I love to do when driving back home from Gainesville in warm weather is ride down Mr. Philpot's road. It's honestly my favorite road in the whole world--- 10xs better than any street in the city. 

As I drove, the song "I Can See Clearly Now" came on. 

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,

I can see all obstacles in my way

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind

It's gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)

Sun-Shiny day.

I think I can make it now, the pain is gone

All of the bad feelings have disappeared

Here is the rainbow I've been prayin' for

It's gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)

Sun-Shiny day.

The lyrics were hitting home (no pun intended). Though the obstacles in my life haven't magically disappeared; for some reason, this trip home has helped me to identify them more clearly. 

And I think a combination of this being a classic song as well as driving past his house made me wonder what Mr. Philpot would say. 

And suddenly I knew.

He would ask why the heck I was avoiding the place and people that I love. He'd probably tell me straight up-- that is stupid.

He'd also tell me to keep being myself and to keep loving people. 

I think he would tell me people changing is a part of growing up, but at the same time to always be true to myself.

My intention is not to be morbid, but I think I learned my last life lesson from Mr. Philpot this week... and I'm thankful for it.