Re-evaluating in Memphis

While I was in Memphis, I did some things that many tourists do.

I saw the famous ducks of the Peabody Hotel and basked in the ambience of the hotel's ornately festive lobby while I enjoyed a cocktail.

I met a young family from Birmingham; they drove in the day before, as had I, so the husband could run in the half-marathon. His school-age son was a football fanatic and was proud to say he had also run in his first race this year; but then declared that he doesn't like running and doesn't want to run another race. This seemed to be news to his father. I helped the son use my phone to look up scores for the Auburn vs. N.C. game. He was backing N.C., which was getting trounced in the first quarter. He didn't seem perplexed by that.

I absorbed the sights, sounds, and, smells of Beale Street, both during the day and at night and contemplated all the cities in which I have experienced the same sort of funky, Bohemian allure. I tried to compare and contrast its elements with those of New York's Greenwich Village, London's SoHo, and Austin's 6th Street. Every city seems to have one and each one of them--whether created by the developers to lure in hapless tourists and their screaming wallets or established through time and critical in the city's history--is enduringly unique.

I wandered Union Street looking for Rendezvous Grill, which is purported to have the best ribs in Memphis. I didn't find it. It is in an alley within blocks of the Peabody Hotel. My single status in a strange city at night deterred me. I did try to ask directions from several "locals", just like the man from the hotel had suggested to me if I got lost.

"Everyone in Memphis can tell you how to get to Rendezvous."

I must have found the only three people who didn't. They were probably tourists, just like me. I didn't think to use the GPS system on my phone but instead wished for a man to walk with, on whose arm I could hang and not be quite so fearful. My wish was not granted.

I marveled at the expanse of the Mississippi River as I rolled over it the next day on my way home. The rising sun was shimmering a goodbye in my rearview mirror and the childhood spelling rhyme was chiming in my ears: M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I.

I did something that many tourists don't do.

I ran the St. Jude Memphis Half-Marathon. Actually, that was my reason for coming. The sightseeing was just an afterthought and the filling between the slices of two 8 hour drives. My mother thinks I'm absolutely insane; but she should know me by now.

I didn't do some things that many tourist probably come to Memphis to do, mainly visit Graceland. Another tourist mecca, and one that I would most likely avoid on my next trip to Memphis, IF I had the time to visit it this time. But, I didn't.

So, next time Graceland.

I also did some self re-evaluation. It came on without warning as a gradual realization, like the dawn's first light, growing bolder and brighter in the morning sky.

I felt lonely.

For the first time among many solo trips just like this one.

I couldn't shake it and I couldn't find anything good or positive in it to write about. I was just lonely.

Maybe it is my age. Or, it could be a symptom of the chapter of my life in which I am at this point. Nope. Too easy.

It could be a need to celebrate the successes of the race with someone close, instead of having to text or email them like I usually do.

Or, could it be that being alone is losing its attraction. Is the mystique evaporating or is it just transforming, teasing me to find it again?

As I traveled west on I-40, battling the truckers and race fatigue, I didn't feel quite as lonely as the night before. It was back to the usual contentment with being alone, my own music, my own speed, and my own stops.

I do hope that loneliness stays hidden from view or comes fully out of the closet. I never did like hide and seek and at my age, I'm not changing my ways now.