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Where I grew up, we didn’t have neighborhood pools or county festivals. We had gravel and dirt roads. In fact, it was such a small town we didn’t even have a chain restaurant until my senior year of high school. I’ll never forget the line that wrapped around the building on the eve of their opening, everyone just waiting for a taste of the elusive Appleby’s.
But there are some benefits to a slower space and pace, and one is that it breeds imagination. I’m probably as creative as I am because I spent a lot of time alone, telling my own stories from a wood deck or a fig tree.
I started my life in a small town and somehow ended up in Frisco, the “fastest growing city in America.” Things here are easier, more accessible. We have shopping and dining and events galore. Yesterday, I saw a robot on my sidewalk delivering takeout.
I think it’s great to go and do, but somewhere along the line I lost my ability to just sit. To tree climb, and make my own fun, and be present with the few, not the many.
That’s one of the silver linings of this pandemic. Things closed and my imagination opened again. I couldn’t rely on my norms, I had to create a new way. And while on most days I still wish away this virus, I’m also really starting to see the beauty in the simplicity.
And an inflatable pool.
To More Love,