Take the Long Way Home

High school, ca 1992/1993/1994/1995. When lonely days turned to lonely nights, I'd take a trip to the city lights. I'd take the long way home.

I was 16. Too, I thought I was cute. I'd call friends out to join me, but not many parents would let their 16-year-old "kids" out that late just to cruise Main. Alone with myself, but not alone at all, I would recline the top of my convertible, strap myself in, and head out at night, just driving. Anywhere. On several occasions, I'd drive to Tulsa. Once or twice maybe, I drove to Wichita down by the river, or to Joplin for a chance to get an up-close and personal bird's eye view of the eerily infamous spook light many witnessed there. I'd pop in a cassette tape, put my long blondish hair back into a pony and grab my Notre Dame sweatshirt. Then...just drive. That's what I would do to pass the time. Get where I wanted to go, mess around a few hours doing nothing in particular, and then drive back home. A big loop, I always took the long way home. I was 16 and 17, listening to music found on classic rock stations that were considered classics in this grunge era, the mid-90s. I was alive and kicking, waiting to stumble into the "perfect" opportunity. Waiting to meet the love of my life, but not so eagerly that I'd let somebody play me. And while I can't read music or play music, music has remained a constant in the background of my life. A sort of solace for so many occasions in life.

I used to want to BE so many different things. For starters, the lucky schmuck who got paid to come up with names for Crayolas. Or the soundtrack picker-outer for blockbuster movies. I used to dream in my mind, fully awake mind you, of my future husband. His perfect, flawless image was hardwired into my brain and most likely stemmed from the 90210 life we ALL dreamed of living as we watched every Thursday night. At one point, I can recall wanting to be an entomologist even though to this very day a grasshopper up my pants leg will make me run crazy, screaming like a psychotic bottom dweller. I would think of all of these THINGS I wanted to do with my life, all the places I still needed to visit, the friends I wanted to meet, and last but not least, the man I would run into on the produce aisle at Dillon's that would spark the beginning of my perfect life. Or so my mind thought.

While it's not what everyone would choose, my friends would all tell you when they got into the car with me, we would listen to the best music. Roll down that rag top, turn the volume up, and breathe in deeply that summer midnight air that seemed to have just a lilt, hint, gesture of wild lavender surfing and swirling around our heads. The music, from no matter the decade, was always good. My mixed tapes seemed innumerable and promised to maximize the enjoyment of our journeys. Nobody ever asked me where I was going. No limits were ever set, not really. No limits were enforced at home. I could roll in at 10:30 that night or 3:30 the next morning. Didn't matter. Nobody waited up. Nobody grounded me or ever dealt consequences for my irresponsible actions. It was glorious. And, it really sucked. I was 15, 16, 17, I had a brand new ride and the money SEEMED endless. Whatever I needed, whatever I didn't need but still wanted, I had it all. The world was truly my oyster. I had potential. I thought I had ambition. I had a great head of hair. And no rules. I was Hot Child In The City.

Back then, I so desperately wanted to fall in love. I can't remember why, though. Why does any young girl want to find her true love? I'd listen to my songs and play a movie in my mind of the life I thought I was destined for. When I was 17, I placed a singles ad in the Tulsa World. Remember those? Mine was in there. Yep, I lied about my age. I couldn't very well tell the truth, now, could I? I met and went out on dates with 3 professional men, who, at the time were in their mid-20's. I was kind of a prude, and pretty proud of it. It was my "thing," innocence. You know, go to parties but never consume alcohol. See, some rules I followed and some I did not. I prided myself on that. I enjoyed the fact that my friends' parents trusted me when they did not necessarily trust some of our other friends for whatever reason. Parents liked me. High school boys, not so much. But parents? Yeah. They adored me, Liz Hancock. I remember accepting an essay award from the Masonic lodge one early evening and then driving to Tulsa and getting into a little 2-seater plane flown by my date who had his pilot's license. That guy, whom at one point I just KNEW I was gonna marry, is now a Denver magician and inspirational speaker/motivator and even performed at halftime during a Broncos game last year. He is now a FB friend and occasionally we'll hit 'Like' on pictures of our children. Funny the way life works out.

None of this makes a whole lot of sense, probably. I'm really just kind of yammering, anyway. There is no major point to this post except to reiterate what a strong presence music has been in my life. I choose my music like I choose my friends, and to that end both are complex and varied in nature. And it's like I've had several chances and opportunities to grab my life by the reigns and direct it, but have not. Instead, I've settled into riding it out.

All that to say HERE I AM. JOKE IS ON ME. I GIVE!! I'm back in my hometown and have been here for years. This small town isn't terrible. There are aspects I really do appreciate about it especially now that I have a family. While the vast majority of people here are people I don't know because I haven't grown up with them, the crowd of folks I *DO* know are still that steady constant, and there is something valuable to be said for that. It feels safe here. It feels like a familiar song and I'm living out the tempo. I have a good husband and 3 absolutely delightful children. I thought surely by now I'd be a published novelist and have a writing studio, maybe living in a high rise. Instead, I have the idea for a blog that may or may not ever get off the ground. I wear sweats the vast majority of my days, not Ann Taylor that once filled my closet. Yes, 25 years later, I have swapped that little white convertible for a minivan. Funny, the way my life has worked out. I am thankful for it, though. I am starting to grow in ways I never dreamed I would. I still fail miserably in a few other areas, but I am okay with that. I'm a work in progress just like so many others. I still have a bit of that same young, hopeful girl inside myself, I can feel her trying to make her way out from time to time, if only to express myself like I am tonight, and to no one in particular. I'm home. My family is home, too. I have yet to come full circle, but I'm choosing to take the long way home. After all, it is the soundtrack to my life and I'm choosing to celebrate.

'Does it feel that your life's become a catastrophe?
Oh, it has to be for you to grow, boy
When you look through the years and see what you could have been
Oh, what you might have been,
If you'd had more time
So, when the day comes to settle down,
Who's to blame if you're not around?
You took the long way home
You took the long way home'