You can go home again

Dear Reader,

This week was the first week of classes and I started teaching on a new campus, my old college.

It has been a beyond surreal experience. The first day was filled with so many memories. The classroom I teach in is the same classroom I learned in.

I ran into my first creative writing teacher and spent some time talking with her. She said she was proud of me and was excited that I was there now. If you would have told me that I was going to be her colleague one day, I would have called you a liar.

Then I stepped into this room and I nearly broke down in tears.


Behold, the choir room.


My dreams started in a choir room.

This room is new and was constructed after I left. However, when I walked in I felt so at home. I could hear music and I wanted to sit in one of the chair and get ready to perform at a concert.

It was in a room like this I dreamed so many things for my life — who I wanted to be, what I wanted to do. I was going to leave the neighborhood and find my way in the world. Make something of myself.

And I did. And I’m back home. Houston. The old house. The old neighborhood. The old college. This choir room. These memories. They were strong. They washed over me and hugged me.

When I visited my former choir teacher, he remembered me. He remembered me. I was remembered almost 20 years later.

I can’t, still, days after these moments, find the right words to describe the feeling of that day. Peace? Happiness? Joy? At ease? Yes to all these plus more. So much more.

Healing? Is this healing? Maybe.

Here’s a video I did of my thoughts that day.


In beautiful tears,


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