The Truth About Cleveland
Published on October 21, 2010
I got to tell you something.
When I first arrived here in Cleveland, I freaked out.
I wanted to go home right away. I started looking at flights, complaining to my friends, and ok, I’ll admit it……feeling sorry for myself.
I was exhausted. (I kind of forgot about that little thing called jet lag.)
I was freaking-fucking cold. (Sorry, that’s the only way to describe it.).
And I know this is going to sound all granola-y-wishy-washy-hippie-do-da…but I swear I could just feel the energy of this place…and to me it was a disturbing few miles below sea level.
Basically I was making a hefty check list of all that’s wrong with being here–and um, this place.
But after a good day & night’s sleep—I realized that Cleveland is the innocent victim in all of this. Cleveland hasn’t done anything but be who it is–what it is.
Cleveland’s just being Cleveland.
It’s me that’s the big baby. It’s me throwing a tantrum because it’s not matching up to my hefty check list of standards….or more or less…ridiculous ideals of comfort.
It’s me finding fault in something–because I think I’m something different in relation to what it is.
Ok, it’s not even that….it’s me facing some things about myself that being here is bringing to the surface for me. And, well, I’m not happy with that.
But yesterday I found some peace.
I made a pilgrimage to the Cleveland Museum of Art. A place I worked at for a long time. A place I spent hours upon hours in–and around. A place that was always my little mecca here in Cleveland. My church. My sanctuary. My happy place.
I visited some old friends–like Picasso, Van Gogh, Renoir, Bougereau, Bonnard, and Munter and it was exciting…because the Museum has been doing some massive remodeling–and now everything looks and feels different. It’s modern. New and improved. Creative Juicy to the maximum.
My favorite paintings are still the same…but they hang on walls of different colors in rooms that never existed before. The collection’s still the same…it’s just the building that houses these amazing works has done some changing.
That’s what it’s all about.
And, the funny thing that Cleveland has made me realize is I’m a little uneasy about my own change.
So much change has happened in such a small time–that I do feel like that pirate on her magic carpet that I spoke about HERE. But at the same time—who am I exactly? Who is this girl I see–who I feel–who I am?
I’ve been moving so much and so quickly, that I haven’t had any time to stop and soak in the landscape of my life.
Coming back to my hometown was like crashing into a brick wall. These people here know me.
But do I?