Midwestern Detour

Standing in the shadow of the Gateway Arch in St. Louis, I was struck suddenly by some complex emotions. This monument, and my hometown at large, has a special, nostalgic place in my heart that I never afforded it when I lived there. Perhaps part of this is because I did not actually live in St. Louis. Yet, it’s where I say I’m from when asked. It’s not that I’m embarrassed of Collinsville, Illinois…it’s just that it’s more expeditious to say St. Louis since people know where it is. So, when I say St. Louis, you now know that I am generally referring to all of Southern Illinois as well. But, I digress.


So there I was on Saturday standing in the shadow of this massive monument to American Western Expansion. I have always been awestruck by the Arch, there’s no denying it. But what stirred my emotions this time were the purely personal meanings that the thing was suddenly adopting. Sitting in the grass, on what had turned out to be a spectacularly beautiful day, I gazed up at the Gateway to the West and could not help but feel both sad and excited at the same time. A great adventure lay before me, conveniently located west of my present location. Way out west. Never mind that I was actually facing East at that moment…I have always felt it was odd that 98% of people view it from the Missouri side, but again I digress. This was the last time that I would see St. Louis for a while, and along with it my family and friends who call it home.

This strange moment in time was the culmination of a week-long visit to my home town. It was a week of hellos, and goodbyes, knowing full well that the stretch of time before my next visit will be unusually long. That is what makes it hard. I’ve not lived in St. Louis for a long time, but at least I was only 8 hours away at any given moment. New Zealand will be a bit more of a challenge on the travel front. Even so, I have to remember how lucky we are today. While it’s not the exactly the same, I admit, modern technology does allow for people to stay in touch like never before. It used to be that when you ‘boarded the boat’ for another country, you were probably gone forever. Relatives could count on letters, and perhaps a rare photo at best. Honestly, I don’t know how they did it back then. People say we are brave for doing this, and perhaps we are a little bit, but nothing like the pioneers of ages past.

Yes, nowadays friends and family alike can be bored to tears with photos and monologues like this one that recount the ramblings of roaming loved ones. This is what I told my Mom in the hopes it would cheer her up a bit, and perhaps also to help me convince myself. I also promised not to buy a motorcycle in NZ, or at least if I do so, not to tell her about it. While I can’t stop her from worrying, I can do my best to stay in touch (with only good news, mind you) and share stories from Down Under.

It was good to be home again, to see everyone and visit a bit. It was also important for me to reconnect with similar motivations/feelings of the sort that had taken me from St. Louis to Atlanta way back in 1988. It’s not the same, exactly, but both endeavors share the same need for pure drive and determination in order to be successful. At least this time, Stacey and I have each other to lean on during the trying times.

19 Days and Counting.