Thank You Memphis For Reminding Me to Live (Again)

After an unexpected late night out at the Willard hotel celebrating my colleague’s birth anniversary, my voyage to Memphis was off to a delayed start. It was already midday and I was just putting the last bag in my Rubicon and tightening the black elastic straps to my canvas top so it wasn’t flapping around as I flew down the windy interstate.

For my second quarter furlough, I decided it would be best to take advantage of the time off in the biggest way possible, without spending any money. The first quarter furlough was less than impressive because my wallet was stolen the week before, causing me to spend the week off replacing my life.

After reading an article about furloughhouseswap.com, my friend in Memphis contacted me with more than a house to offer. If I could get to Memphis for my furlough, he said we could work together on a freelance project, which would give me more than enough money to get to Memphis and back.

It was amazing timing because the Beale Street Music Festival was only weeks away. However, it was a tough call because it had been SO long since I left the city and I had so many buried memories.

After contacting a few of my friends who were still in the area and landing two free tickets to the 3-day musicfest, I was more than convinced it was finally time for me to go back to Bluff City. Almost four years had passed since I turned my back on the city that opened its arms and reminded me what it meant to live again.

Why Memphis?

A month before college graduation in 2003, I received an email about a graduate program in Memphis. The program was less than attractive if you only considered the history of the program and the legacy. However, two pieces of information glistened in my inbox: the program would cost me nothing - they would actually pay me to get my masters if I assisted with their journalism program; and, to apply to the program, I did not have to confront the evil GRE. Only the MAT was required, which was $40 and I didn’t have to study! Again, very attractive to the poor, burnt-out college student.

It was the perfect plan B for me. After taking the MAT, I submitted my application, barely missing the deadline for the fall 2003 class. Then, I waited, and waited, and by July I had forgotten about the program, fallen in love with an 18-year-old (context: I was 22) and found my new found career as a retail manager.

Rewind. Say what?@!

The Random Call

When I received a phone call from Dr. Rick Fischer from the University of Memphis on my cell phone at 8 p.m. on one random hot and humid August evening, I knew this opportunity was different. No “thank you for applying” sealed letter. A phone call to my cell phone, a number I was certain I did not give out.

After a couple of questions, Dr. Fischer invited me to join the U of M Class of 2005 as a fellow to the journalism program. After I pulled my jaw back to my upper lip, I hung up the phone and digested what had just been offered.

A week later, I declined the fellowship because it just didn’t feel right yet and I was still hopeful I’d land a job as a reporter at one of the smaller dailies.

Spontaneous Combustion

Months later, it was November and I was still stocking and selling clothes at Ann Taylor. After working my third or fourth Sunday in a row, I walked into my manager’s office and asked if I could take a few days off to fly to Memphis. My reasoning was that I needed to visit campus if I were to attend the university in the fall of 2004.

After a quick 3-day visit, two weeks before the Spring semester began, I was packing my 2-door black Nissan to capacity and on my way to Memphis. It was the hug Dr. Fisher gave me when I arrived at the university for my visit; the amazing 100-year old house with a beautiful furnished room, and the best roommates ever, all for only $200 a month; and the brilliant smiles shared with everyone I met that convinced me Memphis was meant to be. It was just too easy.

For the next 16 months, I would live life like never before. There is something about that place that lifts your spirit and opens your eyes to what really matters. After years of living the status game and attending over-achiever boot camp, I found myself in a place that welcomed hard work and embraced brilliant minds, yet, in the most simple, spiritual way, also embraced living in a way most of my friends and family would not recognize.

How Did I Survive?

Every morning, five days a week, I ate my peanut butter bagel and studied, then worked 8 hours at The Commercial Appeal. At 5 o’clock, I raced to class with my laptop open in the passenger seat so I could study for my daily quiz. When class was over, I spent some time at the gym, finally making my way back home around 10 p.m., at which point I began studying again and writing term papers.

Revisiting this life weighs extremely heavy on my heart. It was a ridiculously focused and admirable time in my life. On the contrary, it was also an extremely self-centered, cold and heartless time in my life. During these 16 months, I was lifted up by the community around me and owe those individuals my life and success story. I also owe those individuals an apology for being so focused on me I forgot to pay it forward.

It was for this reason, my trip to Memphis a few weeks ago was such a contradiction. I was so happy to be able to enjoy the company of those that literally carried me to the finish line, yet, I was also heartbroken and embarrassed that I didn’t show my gratitude and affection towards them as much as I should have when I lived there.

Friends in Memphis, thank you for changing my life — twice. I look forward to the next time you will be able to teach me to live again.