The New Normal

The heat is a palpable force, slamming in to me as I emerge from the door of my office.  I squint in to the bright, early evening sun.  One thought passes through my mind.

“What the fuck am I doing in Texas?”

It’s a strange thought, but mostly because this is the first time I’ve had it in about two weeks.

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There ain’t no moral to this story at all
And anything I tell you very well could be a lie
Been away from the living
I don’t need to be forgiven
I’m just waiting for this cold black soul of mine
To come alive
--The Refreshments, “Nada”

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Traffic slows to a crawl on northbound I-35.  Construction, by all appearances.

All I want to do is get to Oklahoma City.  Saturday afternoon construction doesn’t seem like a good way to make that happen.

After a few miles traveled an inch at a time I catch the sight.  Lights.  Red and blue.

It’s not construction.  I feel guilty for getting pissed.

Then I realize that I have friends traveling that same stretch of road.  It might be them.  I hope not.

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Work.  Sleep.  Eat.  Work.  Sleep.  Eat.

It’s all routine.  I get up in the morning and head to the office.  I leave the office in the evening.  I run errands.  I watch TV.

It was the new buzzword at the office last year: “The new normal.”

I drive home from the Kroger remembering a conversation with my boss.  The new normal.

It was the new normal that sent me to Dallas.  Dallas must become my new normal.

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There ain’t no moral to this story at all
And anything I tell you very well could be a lie
Been away from the living
I don’t need to be forgiven
I’m just waiting for this cold black
Sun cracked
Soul of mine
To come alive
--The Refreshments, “Nada”

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Oklahoma City reminds me of Madison, Wisconsin.  The Wormy Dog Saloon reminds me of the High Noon Saloon.  The new friends I meet – who all made the journey safely – remind me of new friends I once met in Madison.

Of course, the last time I was in Madison it was October and the temperature was hovering around freezing.  The temperature when I arrived in Oklahoma City was a perfectly tolerable 93…when compared to the 100 degree temp I’d left behind.

The last time I was in Madison it was the last night of Rogtober.  For the previous week I’d traveled around the state of Wisconsin making new friends.  That night I was hanging out with one of my oldest friends.

The last time I was in Madison was the last time I got to completely live in the old normal.  Five days later I got the news.

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I’m surrounded by memories of Chicago.  My living room is practically a shrine to the city I call home.  The pictures on the walls are of the streets of the city, the White Sox World Series run, Old and New Comiskey, the old Chicago Stadium.

My cube at work has my White Sox calendar on the wall alongside posters I stole from bathroom walls when I went to see Seneca, RCPM, Jessi Lynn.  Local H graces two computer screens as my wallpaper.

I came to Dallas desperately clinging to memories of a city I wanted everyone to know I left due to no choice of my own.  I was dragged off by the press gang, forced against my will to travel to foreign lands.

It strikes me, though, that being able to carry Chicago with me is a luxury.  It strikes me, too, that I can return relatively easily.  I cannot comprehend what it would have been like to live in a world before jetliners and automobiles.  I cannot fathom being absent from those oft-maligned signs of homogenization of culture: McDonald’s, Best Buy, Barnes & Noble.  There’s a comfort to being able to walk in to the same store in Chicago, Dallas, or at any point in between.

It also strikes me that I did have a choice.  And I chose this.

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There ain’t no moral to this story at all
And anything I tell you very well could be a lie
There ain’t no morals to these stories at all
And everything I tell you you can bet will be a lie
Been away from the living
I don’t need to be forgiven
I’m just waiting for this cold black
Sun cracked
Numb inside
Soul of mine
To come alive
--The Refreshments, “Nada”

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It’s strange how a place you’ve only ever stopped in once before to get a Quarter Pounder with Cheese can feel like home.

With the right touch points, the right people, the right moments, a friend met in Madison and again in Oklahoma City, that foreign land can feel just right.

As I nose my car back on to I-35 southbound the idea of going home to Dallas doesn’t feel completely alien for the first time.

The new normal.