My Little Escape
Learning to Trust Myself
The morning cannot fix every problem, but it does renew you some. Yesterday’s crises melt by one-fifth and you can stand somewhat aside from them, instead of being surrounded and disoriented by them. The morning sun takes the edge off.
I awoke to the sound of my alarm. Late spring morning light already lit my bedroom. Into the bathroom, I dressed in a gray polo with my company logo and tan skinny jeans. I brushed my teeth then pushed my hair into place. I stepped into my blue “office shoes” and out the front door.
Driving into work, I like to take the backroads. There is more to see and it just takes a moment longer.
Entering the parking lot, past the security shack, I sat in my parked car and stared at the three-story red brick office building I work in. I breathed deep into my diaphragm to push away tightness in my lower stomach. I can’t do this today.
I pulled my work phone from my back pocket. I wrote in the team chat, “Not feeling well. I may need to take today off.” My finger hovered over the send button for a minute. I deleted the message and put my phone down. I listened as cars roared past on all the surrounding streets. I don’t want to be here today. I picked up my phone again, rewrote the message, and sent it, this time without thinking. It was both on accident and on purpose. This was not the first time my finger had sent big text messages without long deliberation. Trust that the body knows more than the brain does sometimes.
Now what? I did not want to go home. I needed to breathe adventure back into my my body shaped by my ergonomic chair and oversized screens.
I turned the ignition forward and my black Mitsubishi sedan rattled back to life. I put it in drive and passed the same security guard as moments earlier.
Despite having lived four years in the Atlanta Metro, I had spent little time in Atlanta proper. That day I was drawn to the city as an idea: an epicenter, where energy is humming, ideas are being exchanged, and change is happening. I wanted to see the place at the cutting edge. I had visited and revisited Atlanta on Google Maps but exploring in real life was different.
I drove down Interstate 75 to Cumberland Mall where I could catch a bus to Midtown. I downloaded the MARTA app as I drove so that I could pay bus and metro fare.
At the mall, I parked and hurried across the 5 lanes of traffic. I thought of the times growing up when my dad would spontaneously take time away from the office feeling “burnt out.” Like father, like son I guess. I was glad to be doing this, excited really, and of course guilty too because I knew Melissa could get no such spontaneous day off.
I got on the first bus I saw after confirming with the driver that it was headed to Midtown. I waited five minutes until the bus began rumbling south east.
The bus didn’t go where I thought it would. I began to realize that this was not a direct route. Fine. I would see new parts of the city.
The bus took winding routes through neighborhoods with houses owned by people who would never take a bus, despite it passing hourly in front of their houses. Later the bus passed through an area with what appeared to be a lake on either side of the street and then picked up three women, MARTA employees, wearing safety vests.
Later the bus passed through West Midtown, where new apartment buildings with ground-floor barre studios are abundant and there are scooters along the sidewalks. Two thirty-something black men got on. Minutes later, while traveling down Tenth Street, they were laughing with the MARTA employees. I wished I could make such fast friends.
I thought about Melissa again when I saw Georgia Tech green space in the foreground with the Bank of America tower in the background. I pulled out my phone to take a picture but did not get it in time. This one from Google Maps approximates what I saw.
The bus pushed its way across the fourteen-lane downtown connector and finally to Midtown Station.
I was the first person out of the rear door of the bus. I did not go down the stairs into the station, but instead started south on foot down the famous Peachtree Street. Most buildings were tall and glassy. The street was wide with 4 lanes of traffic all coming my way.
Two blocks down, I slowed, giving a wide berth to a maintenance worker clinging to the base of a ladder. His coworker was 20 or 30 feet up the ladder repairing a sign. If that was my job, I would quit.
I stayed on the shady side of the street. Due to my spontaneity, I was not dressed for heat or sun. I would be sunburned, and I needed to take breaks to not overheat. My journey was not going to be ideal, but nothing ever is.
I saw the Norfolk Southern Railroad Headquarters. Before I accepted my current job, I was going to interview with them. That was before they dumped destructive chemicals in East Palestine, Ohio.
As Midtown gave way to Downtown, I encountered fewer people. But I found myself behind two businessmen from out of town looking for a place to eat lunch before their next meeting. I slowed down as to not feel like I was creeping up on them. It was just the three of us on this whole block. It was this moment when I realized my office-appropriate clothing was inferior to Midtown office-appropriate clothing. I had to cross the street where they crossed it. I bolted across the street after spending a few seconds standing next to them. I took the bridge across the downtown highway, admiring the Metro station on the next bridge over. I passed my first homeless person of the day.
I had held my pee for too long now, which is not convenient on adventures in mostly unknown places. The buildings that stretched skyward were designed at their bases to be hostile to homeless folks or suburban dads looking to take an easy piss while playing hooky from work. But I knew of one piss oasis. A few blocks south and west was the Georgia Aquarium with its convenient outdoor bathroom.
I rounded the corner of the Coca-Cola museum building and I heard “Can I ask you a question?” A blue tent-booth with white lettering was surrounded by go-getters in their early twenties. I should have said, “No, thank you.” and kept walking.
“Sure, okay.”
He launched into a sales pitch for a charity that sends books to Africa. He took breaks every twenty seconds to be hyper-personable, asking me where I am from, what my name is, and to give me repeated fist bumps. I told him I could give him five dollars, but he said a minimum donation was thirty dollars. A thirty dollar donation provided fifty books and it was a great tax write off. I said the magic words “I am not looking to spend that much,” and with a final fist bump, I walked away.
I was closing in on the bathroom now. An extended family was just outside its doors. A woman in her forties smiled and waved. I smiled and waved back wondering if she knew me. Then I noticed she was smiling and waving at someone else. Her eyes met mine again and we both laughed at the awkwardness.
I emerged from the bathroom and walked through the open and too sunny Centennial Olympic Park. I saw kids playing in the fountains and wished my kids were with me to play in the fountains.
The Fairlie-Poplar district is the part of downtown Atlanta that most feels like a European city. It has tiny blocks and narrow streets. I walked through and did not find much life to it aside from some theater kids hanging outside the Tabernacle, a music venue that I had heard good things about.
I turned right and found myself outside Five Points station where all the subway lines converge. Outside there were people waiting for buses and homeless people loitering. As I passed through they were looking at me and I thought a few of them were shouting at me. I was going to check out underground Atlanta but the vibes were off. I headed back northeast.
After a block or two, I was at Georgia State. I saw young women (college students) walking the streets and felt safe again. I walked until I found the streetcar. I was going to board it, but did not want to sit and wait that long. I had just missed the previous one. I just kept walking east down Edgewood.
I walked 10 minutes to the Municipal Market to stand in front of a fan to cool off. I had wanted to get food, but it was a mix of groceries and overpriced hip, fusion cuisines. The adventure was enough to satisfy me today and that was almost free.
I continued east on Edgewood and saw one man taking shelter from the afternoon sun under the highway. I passed a griddle in the street. Behind me a man emerged from a door and said, “We’re serving tacos later. Stop by.”
“Okay thank you.” I sped up to discourage a man who may or may not have wanted to rob me while I was distracted with the taco conversation. Did I have street smarts or suburban paranoia?
Once I got to Boulevard, the vibe of the businesses shifted: The Slutty Vegan, Pisces Club, and some new gated townhomes off to my right. The walls had graffiti — the gentrification mix.
When did I have to head home anyway? I stopped in the shade to make a game plan. I wanted to be home by four, the time I always come home from work, Google Maps said I would have to take two separate trains and a bus and then I would have to drive in heavier traffic than when I came. I decided to leave by two.
I arrived at the famed Eastside Beltline and weary from the afternoon heat, I took time sitting under the bridge, just like the homeless man from earlier. Music played out of a nearby burger restaurant. A couple pushed a young baby in a stroller. People passed on roller blades. I looked for ants around me. A young man zoomed by on an electric bike with rap music booming from his speaker.
After walking through both sides of Krog Street tunnel, it was time to head to the Inman Park MARTA station. It was a 10 minute walk in the heat. My last long stretch of walking of the day. I called Melissa during the walk. I was excited about my adventure thus far. Hanging up, I passed through the turnstiles, walked down the stairs, and sat on a wooden bench to wait on a empty platform.
The train came minutes later to take me back downtown. I tried to look like a regular subway rider. I failed, but no one noticed. At Five points I got off the train and then went to the lower level platform that would take me north to the Arts Center MARTA station. I disliked riding below ground more than riding above ground.
At Arts Center, a bus was waiting for me. I boarded. The people around me fanned themselves and stared out the windows or at their phones.
We took the commuter lane up Interstate-75 and made it back to my car at the Cumberland Mall. My escape was over. I had successfully wandered and it had done wonders for me. Sometimes when your body and soul are telling you to go, go. Trust that your body knows what it needs. It probably needs a break. It needs adventure. It needs to feel alive.
When is the last time you did something spontaneous as a little treat for yourself?