Notes on Charleston: Traffic

 "There's a lot of insects. It's really, really hot in the summer, and the traffic is worse than it ever was."

—Bill Murray, attempting to drive people away from Charleston

    I am not accustomed to life in a large metropolitan area.  And to be fair, Charleston really isn’t that big compared to cities on the West Coast or in New England.  But I’m not used to it, damnit.  For some reason, Myrtle Beach never bothered me and I acclimated quickly to the madness of the summer tourist season.  I learned backroads to avoid the traffic, avoided tourist hot spots.  Are there back roads here?  If there are they are no secret anymore in the world of navigation systems programmed to “avoid highways.”  Every street is congested.

    I used to enjoy a shot of tequila on my familiar drive home.  Now I’m too unnerved to risk that.  The most I do is one beer with some bar food if I have to drive.  Going seven miles in West Ashley during morning rush hour takes 45 minutes.  The drive home from work between 2:30 and 3:30 takes almost an hour to go 12 miles.  And it’s not even tourist season yet!  Charleston was never built for this amount of people.  STOP COMING HERE!  Go to New York or Chicago, Hell…maybe move out to San Francisco or Seattle.  That doesn’t apply to me, of course.  I am an honorary South Carolinian.  It’s more home to me that my native West Virginia.  

    Each move, each city or town, has its perks and its flaws.  You’ve got to take the good with the bad.  I can deal with the traffic.  I’ll adjust.  Charleston has so much to offer.  I am happy here.  And I haven’t been happy in a long time.  The thing I learned from this last year is that you can’t find happiness in external things—money, jobs, possessions, or even other people.  You’ll blow through your money, you’ll lose your job, your possessions will get stolen, people you love and trust will fuck you over for their own gain or they will simply leave you.  At the end of the day, the only way to find happiness is within yourself.  Maybe that takes some new scenery and sights, a new environment, for you to feel so alone against the world and out of place that you finally get to know yourself better.  I did not find this state of mind because I simply escaped my problems by coming to some place where I can lose myself.  I am happy because I found myself again amidst a sea of strangers in a foreign city.  I feel more confident here, more sociable.  I feel like I did this time last year, like I did when I was in my twenties.  I’m no longer focused on what I hate about this world and filled with so much bitterness.  When I wake up in the morning I focus on what I enjoy about life.

    I love the beach, the ocean, the breeze off the marsh, the Spanish moss dangling from the looming live oaks, meeting new people, experiencing new food, chilling out and “vibing” to songs I’ve never heard, learning knew things.  I like hearing people’s stories, drinking local beers, writing down my impressions.  I feel inspired to write and get out there and live life again.

    There is a metaphor in traffic.  Sometimes in life you’ve got to slow down and take the time to not only be by yourself, but with yourself.  Alone with your thoughts, your problems, your insecurities.  There’s no running, no escape.  You’ve got to utilize that time stopped at a red light or stuck bumper-to-bumper to learn to enjoy your own company.  To learn to love yourself again.  In life, you may take a wrong turn and miss an exit.  That will cost you, sure.  You’ll arrive to your destination late, exhausted, stressed, and angry with yourself.  But that’s all right.  Life has its vicissitudes.  You get turned around every now and then, but eventually you get on the right road.  It may take you longer to get to where you want to be, but you’ll get there.  And everything that left you so bitter and mad will become a joke you tell over beers.  There’s only one true destination at the end of this road.  And there’s no reason to be in a rush to get there.  Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.  Even if you’re going two miles an hour.

    

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