I’m up in rural Mississippi visiting family. I’m sitting in a room lit up by the sunshine streaming through the window and listening to the lilt of wind chimes right outside. It’s calm and quiet and I’m loving it. It makes me wonder why I live in a city full of noise, long lines everywhere you go and the daily count of dead bodies by murder when I could be living where the pace of life is relaxed, coming and going is pleasantly easy and the only people who die violently are car accident victims. And that’s fairly rare. But, it’s only Tuesday – I’ve only been here three days – and usually by about the fifth or sixth day I’m missing the vibrancy, the color, the music, the culture, the life of the city. Nothing is perfect in this world and oftentimes we have to accept compromise in deciding our life’s path. Lately, however, I find myself so incredibly angry and saddend by the unrelenting pace of murder in our city, especially when it involves children, and I think about how it wears on one’s psyche and whether it’s worth being exposed to that every day for the other more beautiful aspects of life in the city. I can’t even imagine being a parent and raising a child here and the worry they must live with everyday.
It’ll be interesting to see how I feel on the fifth day this time.