I take comfort in connecting to the bigger world when my smaller one feels like it’s closing in. Coffee shops, walks through the neighborhood, and the liveliness of a day at school all do this for me. These surroundings bring me solace.
I adjusted to parenthood in Seattle with walks – often to coffee shops. It helped to get out of the apartment, away from too many hours of a self-created \”The Office\” marathon, and it helped to have a destination in mind. Chocolati was a one mile walk north around nearby Green Lake. Zoka was a one mile walk south into the Tangletown neighborhood. Herkimer was one mile southeast into the University District. Cafe Racer was in a similar direction to Herkimer, but I hadn\’t yet visited it in the spring of 2012. As it turns out, I never would. Without me ever setting foot in Cafe Racer, the thought of it alone became a profound discomfort.
Keats was two and a half weeks old. Dan and I had a steady flow of visitors stopping by to meet our early arrival. Among them was a friend\’s mum, who was visiting from out-of-state. She kindly suggested meeting me for a walk around the lake the next day, May 30th. By late morning, I had cancelled our plans. Cocooned in the safety of our apartment, oblivious to the outside world, I\’d received a message from Dan to stay put. At 11:00, Cafe Racer had become the scene of a fatal shooting. The shooter had not yet been apprehended. Leaving the apartment was too risky. Going for a walk a mile from the shooting was unfathomable. Although safe at home, I couldn\’t ignore the reality that Keats and I could so easily have been there – a coffee shop one mile from our home.
Seven years later, I\’m now thoroughly entrenched in parenthood. I\’ve mostly adjusted, although I admittedly have occasions in which I miss my old identity and the – in hindsight – less frenetic pace of life. I need to carve out Me Time that gets me out into the bigger world, even if only for a short while. This Me Time helps me appreciate all that I have, while keeping sight of my core identity. Unsurprisingly, my favorite Me Time moments find me writing in a favorite coffee shop. Once every year or two, though, the Me Time expands to fill 24 hours – a full day of my favorites Me things.
This March, I spent a night away in Ann Arbor, 24 hours of active verbs without interruption: reading, writing, eating, shopping, sleeping. Having made my first stop at a coffee shop (naturally), I meandered down Main Street to Crazy Wisdom Bookstore to peruse the bookshelves at leisure. My plan was to linger there for as long as I desired before wandering along to whichever shops caught my eye, ending at a Thai restaurant for an early dinner.
I’d been in Crazy Wisdom for about 45 minutes, basking in the black and white comfort of printed text, when a conversation caught my attention. A salesperson standing nearby was talking with a man and a woman. I heard her say, “Yeah, there were gunshots reported on campus at Mason Hall around 4:45.” She said this so nonchalantly that it took me a moment to register the gravity of her words. I glanced at the clock on my phone and my thoughts quickly caught up to the present. It was 5:15. Gunshots had been reported on campus at 4:45. It was 5:15. Gunshots had been reported on campus 30 minutes ago. I was in Ann Arbor. Mason Hall was in Ann Arbor. I didn’t know exactly where on the college campus Mason Hall was, but I knew that wherever it was would be close enough. Too close. Much too close for comfort.
I left. I walked the few blocks to the parking garage, hearing the screech of sirens and watching a handful of emergency vehicles race through downtown Ann Arbor in the opposite direction. At that moment, being on Main Street felt too risky to me. Shopping and eating without interruption weren’t worth the greater risk. I didn’t feel in danger, but neither did I feel safe. I quickened my pace, reaching the parking garage and the safe cocoon of my car. Only as I closed the car door and started the engine did I feel the first surge of relief, relief that grew as my drive to the hotel increased the distance between myself and campus.
I found out later that the report had been a false alarm. No gunshots were fired. Reports I’ve read claim that balloon popping was the true culprit. That fact alone says something very disconcerting about our world. Popping balloons were mistaken for gunshots.
Jump ahead a few weeks: My school held its first active shooter drill in which teachers were encouraged to flee with their classes instead of automatically moving into the now-commonplace lockdown mode. Fire drills bring with them whispering, giggling children and plenty of “Shhhh” reminders from teachers. Severe weather drills do the same. This drill, though? Children and adults alike walked with purpose. The only sound was that of shoes scuffing across the playground, following the route to the designated meeting point. It took less than five minutes to evacuate the building. It took about that long for my pulse to stop racing, and for tears to unexpectedly spring into my eyes as we were given the all clear. I knew if wasn\’t real, and yet it was far, far too real.
The plot in each of these vignettes is far, far too close for comfort. I still take comfort in walks. I still take comfort in coffee shops. I still take comfort in school. There’s now, however, a discomfort that I can’t ignore. These places of solace bring with them an undeniable wariness.
We’re racing against a known reality that sometimes feels like it’s closing in.
To Palimpsest 
Katie,I feel the same way; almost as if it is not if but when. This makes me so sad and angry at the same time, yet I feel like it is becoming only a matter of time. As a teacher and a mother and a human being, I am disgusted at the freedoms we choose over the safety of ourselves and our children. Hoping for a better future for your babies. xo
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