The Mississippi Spell

I went back to Jackson, and now I see things clearly.

Last week, I traveled to Jackson, Mississippi. It was the first time I’ve returned since moving away in March.

There was so much excitement leading up to my travels. I was eager to reunite with best friends, revisit my favorite spots, and relive memories dearly held in this meaningful city.

Plus, I was going to attend a champagne dinner celebrating the newly opened Shady Nook, an iconic piece of Belhaven real estate that was recently transformed into an expertly decorated event space. Something about that just felt poetic.

But, the morning of my drive, I could barely make it out of the door. My brain turned off and my body shut down… guess it does keep the score, after all.

Lots of tears and lots of prayer later, I made it into the car, and I triumphantly headed West on I-20.

Kathryn Stockett’s Calamity Club kept me company (I’m only on Chapter 4 so no spoilers!), and the negative discourse around Mississippi was a familiar bell that hadn’t been rung in a while.

It was a hot topic when I, by choice, moved from Charleston to Jackson… because, “who does that?” Now living in Birmingham, my zip-code defense skills have gone unused.

I felt my posture stiffen and my spirit grow defensive when the characters in my audiobook began roasting Mississippi. Ceremoniously, I crossed state lines at the same time. But, instead of confidently countering them, I croaked.

I didn’t feel the usual swelling of pride when I saw that state sign… I felt… distaste.

Was everyone right, after all? Was I just under a spell that made me love Mississippi?

And then I cried.

I cried passing familiar landmarks, I cried thinking of old dreams, I cried seeing this town as barren, for the first time.

I once found pure joy found in a place that others deemed uninhabitable, and now I couldn’t. My brain then went a step further, trying to process what robbed it. How choices could be made to knowingly hurt that happiness? To remove that magic?

I could not make sense of it. So, I cried more.

Every tear pushed my rose colored glasses further and further, until they fell right off.

It took a second for my eyes to adjust to this new, clearer vision.

And then, to my surprise, those adoring feelings towards Jackson started bubbling back.

My memories aren’t someone else’s mental recordings… These cherished places, moments, and friendships were really mine! “It was rare, I was there, and I remember it all too well,” thank you Taylor, for summing it up nicely.

This moment made me realize that regardless of the lens color, it was my set of eyes that were looking through the glasses.

And, while it’s painful to be reminded of what is lost, it’s beautiful when you get to see it again.

Shady Nook’s Champagne Dinner provided many sights for my sore, missing Mississippi, eyes. Here were some of them:

• An instant conversation with a couple upon walking into dinner. It wasn’t transactional or performative, just genuinely inquisitive and enjoyable. Easy.

• Drinking Champagne imported from 4,000 miles away in a historic property that was once a fueling station… talk about a restoration

• Four different culinary creatives coming together and share their talents, not for press but because it’s their passion

• A thirty minute aperitif that lasted double the time because socializing is the main entree in Mississippi… Naturally, closing was behind schedule, too.

snaps from Shady Nook!

I wrote the following last year, and the words still ring true:

To me, Mississippi is the absence of a mold: There’s not an aesthetic to fit into, a blueprint to follow, or a Pinterest feed to depict it… Since there’s not, “a lot,” you’re forced to make it. I love seeing those in Jackson do this so well. Because the ecosystem is smaller than other cities, there’s a cycle of showing out for those that show up. Small businesses have a real presence here: they do things to delight that are fun and seasonal, and the community in turn supports in droves. It’s symbiotic, and it’s so sincere.

Symbiotic and sincere.

It’s true of Jackson, and as I write this, I see it’s true of my emotions, too:

I had so much fun yet I was so sad. I was so grateful yet so upset. So inspired yet so exhausted.

Two sided feelings, mutually helping heal the one me… sincerely.

I don’t know when my next trip back to Jackson will be. Losing those rose colored glasses really was really hard.

But picking up my new ones really was really good.