See For Yourself

I always think about the renaissance of St. Louis, and somewhere along the way, I forgot about my own. I don’t think it’s one of those things you can plan-- a renaissance. We never know the exact moment something new will occur or be born. Revival is a process, a continuation like our lives, an evolution like our city. Renaissance makes us think of a rebirth, and though I think we know when things need to change, most of us realize it late, after some kind of change has already begun.

That’s what happened with me.

Last January, on New Year’s Day, sitting at my dining table surrounded by friends, I gave up struggle, and I tried to rid myself of my need for recognition. Struggle, which I had once mistakenly found poetic, and which I took almost as part of my work ethic, seemed easy enough to give up. For me, it was an attempt to rid myself of my own martyrdom, of which I wasn’t the least bit proud, but found myself continually aware. The need for recognition went hand in hand with that sense of martyrdom, like my own odd way of being Superwoman.

Recognition is just validation. And I’d spent years seeking it, and for years watched it go to everyone around me, which, frankly, only increased that terrible sense of being lost. I thought later of when I’d had the most successes in my life, and how those successes always seemed undeserved, almost too easy or irrelevant in some way-- obsolete. Then, I couldn’t have cared less. If recognition is not the goal, then it is hardly an end. There was a time when I did things because they felt necessary, when my decisions and my thoughts and my actions came from a place of passion and urgency. The things I did, and did well, had their own intrinsic rewards, and I had always done them first and foremost for myself; others be damned.

And I began thinking of that, and then of leadership and service. I try to give my students the tools and the opportunities to be leaders in their lives. We focus on these ideas, a big part of that being to follow your own compass, to be motivated from your own core, to silence out all the misdirections and mistakes that are screaming at you. What I didn’t realize for a long time was that my need for recognition had become akin to my need for others. approval. And my hopes for getting St. Louis noticed was more a desire of validation-- like, “Hey, look at me! I’m a part of something great!” Obviously, this is not a good thing. It was not who I wanted to be or what I wanted to work for anymore.

The truth is, we see cities the way we see ourselves. The streets, the buildings, the brick and the muddy river; the people we encounter, the ideas we applaud, the failures we cry over-- they’re all just parables, ways to see ourselves. We project and magnify and create and reflect ourselves onto this living, breathing body of a city. That’s why we love some places and why others leave us empty and flat. Places we love make us see new things in ourselves, like waking up to something new over and over. We understand and identify. We feel these places, literally. We feel them in our heart; we allow them to wash over us and move into us and fill us up.

This is how I feel about St. Louis; this is how I love it. There are days when I have my doubts, much like there are days I doubt myself. There are times when I think we will not recover, times when I am embarrassed by our decisions and actions and speak defensively. There are times when I want to send everyone in the country a letter telling them I know the secret, and the secret is this city. For better or worse, this is my city. It is where I feel alive, and where I chose to live. Every day I still choose it.

I spent the summer thinking about what comes next, but I realized what that really means is, what comes next for me. I can only make this city better by making it feel right for me. It’s like education: I cannot teach something if I don’t know what the desired outcome is. I cannot change something if I can’t name what I want to change. Surprisingly, I’ve come to this decision: screw St. Louis. This isn’t about a city, it’s about me. I don’t care if other people love or hate this place; I care only that it continues to be a place where I want to be. It’s about living and doing the things I love, which hopefully are aligned with creating a better city, but it can’t only be about that. I don’t know what that outcome is, nor do I know how to achieve it alone. But I do know how to do the things I love. So I’ll do what I am good at.

From now on, I’m going back to how I got here-- following my gut, pissing off some folks along the way, being outspoken, and burning the bridges that are about to fall down regardless. This city will be what it is, and it will likely be that way with or without me. Maybe I can affect some kind of change in my little pocket of brick and trees, but I can’t do anything if I’m not doing it for the right reason. I don’t know how this city can reflect growth in my eyes if I can’t even grow myself. So, for now, I’m done worrying about St. Louis’ renaissance. It will come or it won’t (and truthfully, I think it’s long been here anyway). I’m just going to keep working on seeing the city I love, and hopefully along the way I’ll remember to keep looking at myself. The good things usually find us-- all we have to do is recognize them when they appear.




Look for new posts about great things and great people each Wednesday night. See the city for what it is, and the city will begin to see you.

In My Own Revolution

Yeah... I'm waiting too. Trying to figure out my next role in the revolution. I have some ideas, but need a little more time, then I'll be back.

Until then, I'd suggest staying tuned to LoFi St. Louis. I think it might be my new answer to waking up each day.

Find it here.

Route 19, along the roadside, and the Skyview

Isn't it always the case that just when you're in a hurry, somehow you end up missing where you're supposed to go. I realized about twenty minutes too late I had turned onto the wrong road. In my haste and hurry to escape traffic and road construction, I had simply turned left, thinking I was one place, when in reality, I was in another.

Random mistake or luck of the draw-- either way, I ended up driving one of the most beautiful, uninterrupted stretched of highway I have seen in years: Route 19, just N. of 44. Straight as a rail running north and south, the road fell and rose, dipping and ascending its hills of green, green farmland. Pastures and fields. Farmhouses worn with years of love and usage, rather than neglected and forgotten. The clouds were th3e perfect shade of grey and deep blue-- dark colours, like a teenager's anger rising and then receding, forgotten and faded.

Just when I thought I was through marvelling at my mistake, just before I turned off onto 44 at Cuba, there it was: a drive-in. Still in use, an old lady with grey hair mowing the lawn that surrounded it. A little research showed me that theatre opened in 1954, and it's still running. So my haphazard waylay meant I got to put a new theatre on my list.

I am a movie theatre junkie who oddly, doesn't like movie theatres. I find going to the movies to be a deeply personaly experience, and highly intimate. Most of the time, these days, movies aren't worth the trouble. But when one is good, it's tough to have those lights go up and get jolted back into the harsh light of day with a bunch of strangers picking popcorn off of their laps and kids running up the aisles. That's why when I go, I go alone, but mostly I just don't go.

And yet, there's a magic to movie theatrea: a hocus pocus and a razzle dazzle. There's charm and a certain sincerity about the important of fantasty and escape in our everyday lives. I spent much of college researching movie theatres and writing papers tracing the economic and cultural development of towns and cities based on their theatres. But it wasn't until I was 25 that I got to go to a drive-in.

There were once over 4000 drive-ins in the US; now they number in the low hundreds, and many are no longer functioning. Missouri still sports 13 drive-ins, but even closer than any of those is the Skyview Drive-in. Located just across the river in Belleville, the Skyview is open and raring to go. At $8.50 a person, the Skyview shows to double-features a night, and is currently open Fri-Sun.

It's one of those things that will make you feel the magic of America. Those times when you used to sit outside, maybe the hum of a radio or music far off in the distance, the sweat rolling down your legs in the sticky heat of summer, kids laughing and running. The drive-in might still be one of those things that is roughly the same as it was when our parents were growing up. Sure there are changes, but I bet it still makes you feel the same...

And these days, anything that can slow time down-- in fact, anything that seems timeless-- is worth all the money in the world. The Skyview costs less than a ten.

SkyView Drive-In