Because sometimes our perspective is skewed and we view life from all kinds of wrong angles…
Here’s the story of the frightening 4th of July weekend in Miami that helped reset our positivity compass and allowed us to see things “the right way.”
Frances Hodgson Burnett published her famous novel, The Secret Garden, in 1911 and even then it seems people had issues with perspective.
“If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.”
Summer has almost come and gone and I’ve yet to take you along on any fun adventures. Partly, because I’ve been in a slump and have chosen to spend my days reading and fueling whatever little I can scrounge up of my own nostalgia.
I’ve decided, after spending weeks researching the topic of disappointment, that it might be time for another trip.
My research yielded a slew of depressing movie scenarios of washed-out and low-down characters who had experienced their share of pitfalls in life, yet had nothing in the way of a silver lining to offer me. As close as I got, was a quote by screenwriter & novelist David Gerrold, who matter-of-factly pointed out “Life is hard. Then you die. Then they throw dirt in your face. Then the worms eat you…” The silver lining? “Be grateful it happens in happens in order.”
I’ve been wallowing in my sorrows and indulging in repeat viewings of the 1993 film adaptation of The Secret Garden. I have now rediscovered why I love this movie, with all its glorious earth tones and major theme of happiness begets happiness.
My thing is more of a distress thing, a gloom maybe, perhaps founded purely on the basis of disillusionment. The fact is, I’m just plain sad – because things aren’t the way I thought they would be. And mad – because I can’t change any of it.
These things happening…these are the kinds of things you just have to let play out. If my life were a science experiment, these things would be the little “independent variables” thrust upon me in order to get a budding reaction. I’d be exposed to heat or fluorescent lamps and even a little fertilizer. All the while, I, the stand alone “dependent variable,” would sit like a lonely seedling in the damp darkness of soil, with my hands over my head, waiting for it all to pass and for that moment when I’d feel some kind of growth.
Even the Serenity Prayer, originated by Reinhold Niebuhr, cautions us about those things we cannot change or help, yet must accept.
When life is like this – too stark or real – our first instinct is to try to escape. We want out. We want light…the twinkly kind. We want soft and moving music in the background, watercolor tones, a warm fuzzy sun, and a place with grass so plush and green we can lay on it for hours.
Today, we pack our bags and make a mad rush for to a place I remember just that way. A place I believe could never disappoint. We’re headed back to Miami.
Except, we’re not here to visit family or old friends. We’re here for a bit of an escape.
We check in to a hotel we’ve never stayed in before. One we booked solely for its nostalgic allure. The Raleigh Hotel. Built in the heyday of the 1940’s, this hotel sits solidly like a time capsule and is oozing with nostalgia.
On the floor, on the walls, in the rooms, and by the pool – I figured, anywhere we decide to go here, we would not be able to escape nostalgia. It would embrace us like a much-needed hug at a time when all we want is a shoulder to blubber on.
And so we go on to do everything possible to seek out nostalgia on this trip. We don’t want anything too heavy or serious. We want to feel floatie again, the way us nostalgics like to feel. We want to play pretend the entire weekend and we don’t care that we are, in a sense, “checking out.”
And so we say: out with the modern key cards and in with solid brass keys.
We visit attractions that existed long before WWII and that remain today in all its dated simplicity. Natural places that appear untouched like the Garden of Eden; almost prehistoric and right out of a Hanna-Barbera cartoon.
We dine and read books in cozy nooks intended for private conversations and things like late-night Mai Tais or some other rum-infused drink with decorative parasols hanging off the rim.
We walk by places that inspire us. Places that make us think outside the box. Places that challenge our idea of perspective.
We revisit an establishment where I once experienced a crowning dramatic moment in my life. The place where I was announced as 5th Grade Class Valedictorian. Okay, well it isn’t that significant now but the ceremony was held at the historic Jackie Gleason Theatre!
That is where I gave a speech announcing that “The journey from Pre-K to Fifth Grade has been difficult because we have had some pressures and disappointments.” And how, of course, at the mere age of 12, I recognized and declared that it was all “part of the many challenges in life.” I was so wise as pre-teen…I don’t know what the heck happened once I turned 13.
One thing Miami Beach’s Art Deco district and The Secret Garden have in common – and we desperately need at this moment – is that with a strong preservation effort and a little rehabilitation, we are able to restore some things (and places) to their original glory. Right now, I could use some restoration.
This 4th of July weekend has reminded me of an old family tradition of catching the fireworks show over the bay. And so, this evening, we follow the crowds into a park-like area directly behind the Bayside Marketplace, an outdoor shopping and entertainment complex that wraps along the Biscayne Bay. I am ready with camera in hand to snap photos and shoot videos that I’ll probably never watch again; because who really rewatches those 4th of July videos that never quite capture the true beauty of the vibrant colors and dense smoke that fills the air when the embers settle?
In front of me, a little girl sits on her father’s shoulders and instantly my eyes burn and well up with tears. A deep breath traps in my chest. I think of my dad, gone now for 25 years, who wouldn’t let me miss this show for anything in the world, even if it meant we had to park illegally on the grass because there were never any available parking spots.
The show is exactly what I expected, but I feel it ends way too soon. We make our into the marketplace in search of a flamingo souvenir (I’m obsessed with them), when suddenly the crowd bursts into screams and I feel myself getting shoved into one of the market stalls. It’s like the parade scene in the 1989 Batman film, when one minute the revelers are all smiling and pointing at the flashy distractions and the next, they are running for their lives and trying not to get gassed to death by the Joker.
I don’t know who the jokers are on this day, but I hear people say shots were fired. Suddenly, a flash mob of young kids runs through the center walkway, pushing us to the left and right. People pile into the stall where I am hiding out, forcing me to take backward steps until I am pinned against the make-shift rear wall with my shoulder pressed onto seashell wind chimes and that flamingo I was looking for. Dozens of them…with the leg up and everything!
As I fixate on the flamingos, a woman topples into the stall and drops her small child, causing a display stand for coral fixtures to come crashing down. A man then rushes in and propels his wife, two small children, and a stroller into the stall, forcing the rest of us to sardine closer together. I watch as two women cry in bewilderment.“No puedo! Que esta pasando? Ay Diosito, ayudanos.” (Spanish for: I can’t! What is going on? Oh God, help us.) One of the women attempts to slide further behind the counter. The cash register that sits on top, tilts slightly, teeters for a few seconds, then finally falls and clobbers her on the head. I am momentarily amused at the slow motion then turn hyper-vigilant at the sight of uniformed officers rushing past.
It isn’t until I see police officers running and telling people to “make a run for it” and “get out of here“, that it registers that we are in some kind of danger. I look around, amidst all the chaos, and realize that we’re missing a member of our group. While we were shoved left, my husband must have been shoved right, because he is no longer with us. That was your arm I felt on mine the whole time, not his. And that of strangers seeking comfort and security in a time when it doesn’t matter where it comes from.
We push forward through the crowd, despite our fear and the frightening thrashing sounds we hear coming from outside the stalls. I peer out in search of him, but don’t see him. Panic rises amongst crowd. A woman jumps into the bay leaving her children behind. Others follow suit and are rescued by boaters in the bay waters. Some leap down flights of stairs to escape. Almost everyone is either running or cowering behind walls or in a stall like us. The shop owner turns off the lights and tells us all to “get out.” She is closing her shop to avoid looters and is going to run out as police advised.
Where are we to go? Where is my husband? Which way should we run? Will we find each other is we separate? And the overall looming question – Is there really there an active shooter? Is this for real?
Similar events have recently been covered in the news. Tensions are high all over the world, not just in our little corner of it. I have never given much thought as to what I would do in this situation and I certainly would have never imagined that I would run into an enclosed space away from the group – and my husband.
The last one to be shoved out of the stall, I give the shop owner one final pleading look to wait just a little while longer, when my cellphone begins to ring in my back pocket. Of course! My cellphone. I can’t imagine how people even think about recording things like this as they’re happening. This whole thing is so surreal; like an out-of-body experience.
I answer the call and it’s my husband asking for our location. I try to explain to him where we are, but at this moment, left seemed like right and in seemed like out. I remind him of our safety plan, “If we are ever in trouble, in any kind of building or place, and you run out – stay out. Don’t come looking for me.” We figured that he was tall and very noticeable, but I was small and so I could always find a way out. Of course, when the moment arrives, he breaks rules. He is OUT and we are IN…and he comes back in to look for us.
I stand there with the phone to my ear, shouting these things at him, when suddenly he turns a corner and appears right in front of me. He grabs my arm and we run. Like a dramatic scene right out of a disaster movie, it begins to rain. It pours down and people start to lose their flips flops in the puddles. Strollers careen off the sidewalk and pacifiers fall to the ground. Children cry and shout “I hate this. I never want to come back here.” Police officers stream in with their hands on their belts.
Eventually the marketplace is evacuated and the news crews arrive. Drenched, we make it to a nearby restaurant for a much-needed meal and to process it all. We are shaken up. We watch the TV monitors as witnesses come forth saying they heard or saw the gunshots. Some believe the sounds were fireworks being set off by locals. Many are injured in the stampede. The gunman, if indeed there ever was one, is not found.
Young Adult novelist Jennifer L. Armentrout wrote:
“The funny thing about trying to escape. You never really can. Maybe temporarily, but not completely.”
See, there is no such thing as escaping the reality of our lives. Nostalgia is there for a while, but it comes and goes. It doesn’t like to hang around in the present. The present is meant only for us. And sometimes the present is not so good. It can be rough. It can drag us through the mud. The cliché, “like diamonds through a fire” is right – we have to endure it.
It seems the more I long for nostalgia, even in this place where I was sure I would definitely find it, the farther away from me it draws.
Suddenly, that oversized plastic swan in the hotel swimming pool that once seemed so classy, now seems kitschy. The bright colors on the buildings now look tacky, restaurant food tastes bland, and the high-rises that create massive shadows that provide us with much-needed shade, now appear overbearing. Although my heart was and always will be in Miami, at this very moment, I just to go back to my real home; where my things are; to the people I know today – not in the past.
In his book, Noggin, about a boy whose past, present, and future collide, writer John Corey Whaley points out, “But in that moment I understood what they say about nostalgia, that no matter if you’re thinking of something good or bad, it always leaves you a little emptier afterward.”
We leave Miami and I’m feeling a bit emptier than when we got there. I am disillusioned that the magical nostalgic powers didn’t work on me this time. I am saddened by the thought that, the more I frantically reached for those rose-colored glasses, the more darkness seemed to settle in. The more I yearned for nostalgia, the farther away from my grasp it seemed.
Nostalgia comes into our lives on its own will. If we force it, there are consequences. A combination of the fertilization process that is going on in my life right now and my desperate attempt to usher in some form nostalgia that would make it all go away, created a hyper-real situation, like the one that occurred at the bay.
Back home now, my life is still the same…for the moment. I just have to look at it from a different perspective. I have to look at it “the right way.” Like the flowers growing in that secret garden, we have to choose to flourish amongst the weeds and thorns and even when there is no sun.
As for the fuzzy sun and all things greener?
They will be there for us when we need them. Let’s just not force them. In the same way the seasons occur all around the world, they will float on over to our side – when it’s time.
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