Here’s Part One
My whole life I had been a walker. I walked long distances long before it was a thing. Walking kept me in shape, but more than that it cleared my brain, and let me think. One reason I moved here was that not only do we have a wonderful, walkable beach, but each part of North Myrtle Beach has a different kind of natural beauty, and beautiful homes.
One day I was walking and began choking. It was as if I couldn’t catch my breath. Long story short: something in the air caused me to develop asthma (probably) that turns into bronchitis unless I’m very careful. What constitutes being careful changes every month. Even the beach—yes the most sacred of all places has “irritants” ofttimes. It’s frustrating.
Worse than frustrating since I still define myself as a New Yorker. New Yorker’s walk. And walking keeps my moods centered better than any meds can.
I don’t care if my friends have different politics than I do. I don’t care if their religion is different than mine. Diversity, opposing views, and people getting along has always been one of the amazing things about America to me.
I have met some wonderful people in and around North Myrtle Beach. People that I hope I can know forever.
This summer will be studied by sociologists, political scientists, urban anthropologists, historians, reporters and many more groups forever.
I understand that people only want to see posts on Facebook (yes, Facebook) that they agree with, make them outraged in a good way, make them laugh, make them cry happy tears.
But what happens when you live among people that you respect but have different religions, different points of views, different politics than yours?
What happens when they put in posts about their beliefs? Do you put in posts about yours?
I am a very political person. I was a political blogger from 2005 until 2008. I made a lot of friends including evangelical Christians some of whom I hope will be life-long friends.
I guess I was cocky. I assumed that I could put in posts with my POV’s.
I guess I was cocky in moving to someplace so different, and assuming that I could live happily here. Or maybe I could if I can just keep my mouth shut. I can do that so well in person. Too well. Some people don’t even know that I can talk. And walk. And chew gum.
The realtor and the contractor—that was in the past, and I assigned them to past portions of my brain. As in “sh*t happens; lessons are learned; life goes on; most people aren’t like them.
Because they’re not.
Meanwhile, my friends from the North gave me so much frigging grief about moving here as the realtor and the contractor messes were going on. I refused to believe that all or most or many Southerners were like them.
I still believe most Southerner’s are great. I might hate guns with all my heart but The Second Amendment’s the Second Amendment. And I know the people in my life treat their guns with respect, and lock them away.
Most of my Facebook posts aren’t political or even about social justice something that I care desperately about. Yet people seem to only remember the political ones.
This was the summer of my discontent. It was so hot most of the time even my next door neighbor who is 20 years younger than me, and in perfect shape couldn’t walk to the beach.
I have great AC but it felt as if the humidity was pounding into my brain and I couldn’t get things done. Usually, tropical humidity makes me come alive. This summer it put me into a waking coma.
My best friend and a few others couldn’t get here, or at first, I wasn’t feeling well enough for a house filled with company. Something I usually love.
I was so confused. If I respect people who have opposing views to mine shouldn’t they respect me? What’s wrong with using Facebook as a sounding board?
This is my sad-season. The OMG it’s 15 years since 9/11 and then my mother died blues. When I write it that way it kind of makes me laugh.
I try to be away this week so I won’t focus on anything bad, and almost went to Europe with a group of women I know from Wilmington, NC. Their pictures are taunting me.
I decided to wait until the late spring. For various reasons that’s better for me—and my miles, that I’ve been hoarding forever, can get me a bed on Virgin Airlines (barely, but still…)
I hate this week. I wish I could be put into a reversible coma from now until October 14th or a walking coma. That could be interesting, very interesting.
I wish this damn election was over.
Really, I just want to laugh. A lot.