R.S. Evangelista

When you are fired, or even when you think you might lose your job, your mind runs rampant in all directions and begins to open ideas that have been packed deep within the corners and dusty attic of your brain. All of the desires you wished you could do with freedom of a new outlook suddenly come to the forefront of plausibilities. And sure, visions and dreams are difficult to attain, but losing a job can sometimes force you back to the ideals.

Recently I found myself in a weird, limbo stage of an experience. I was caught “in-flight” back to Atlanta from my weekend away in Maine. But before the flight, I received word that my boss was going to fire me upon my return, and he just hadn’t told me yet. It’s strange that everyone else seemed to know. It wasn’t exactly the emotions I wanted to hop on a plane with, but I flew anyways, standby Delta, scotch nearby and waiting potential reality. I wondered if turning back to Portland would be better. I doubt that was the answer, but it sure was tempting. And part of the unknown was that they hadn’t actually fired me yet, and didn’t have true grounds to do it. I covered my bases before I left. So my quandary was on whether to exhaust my mind on how to keep my job or on what the future could hold, what would be next.

Here I am in the next. I have a firm foundation, not so wrapped up in where I find my work. For my daily breath reminds me that it always works out. And maybe the reason I was supposed to go to New England was to get forced out of San Fran Coffee, because I might not have left otherwise. It’s time for something better. I returned encouraged and rejuvenated for whatever is ahead, and my mind is still opening dusty boxes of ideas, like being found in the attic. And every time I walk outside, away from myself and my stored up ideas, I’m reminded that I’m part of creation. It’s a good thing it’s Autumn.

I’ve a little more than an hour on the plane to express to you in words what seems inescapably difficult to grasp; why I went to Portland. Lately in my writing endeavors I feel more like the photographer attempting to freeze a moment that might capture more than a thousand words, yet you know that being there could’ve left you speechless like me. I would rather visit Antarctica than just see photos of it. I know it’s not the same. Is that why I just returned from Maine? There was something in early October that I had to experience that couldn’t be captured in any other art form except existence. If I show you some photos from my trip, you just wouldn’t get it. You’d wonder why I went.

I could write to you about the many pubs we sat in and the local beers Mike and I drank, some aged in oak-barrels, some spiced for seasonal greatness. Or I could tell you about the fine roasted coffee we sipped from Arabica, one of the dozen or so downtown, corner coffeehouses we passed. I could try to describe to you the changing of leaves we set our eyes upon from arrival to departure, rafting down Dead River category four rapids near Canada, or the yellow and red surrounding the city scene on every street turn, but sadly you weren’t with me experiencing Maine in transition.

I could try to describe to you Becky’s Diner on the main coastal strip where our waitress, Cameron chuckled as we admitted to being unfamiliar with haddock (quite delightful fish). There was also the hefty red-boiled lobster on the waterfront, and the tasty burger at the Great Lone Bear, a local joint in town. We met some folks and developed friendships, and of course amongst it all, watched and listened to Sufjan Stevens at the Port City Music Hall in a small crowd next to a couple of students from Gordon College. The whole getaway seemed right, as if our place was etched out for us there, and we rode in just in time to fill in the colors, the details.

And even though you weren’t there, I can tell you, things don’t just happen at random, but are intricately connected to something greater. I can be sure that I was supposed to be there. One thing I’ve been attempting to grasp lately is that it’s a healthy virtue to understand my place and be okay existing in it, to be happy and joyful where I am. And maybe that’s all I want to express. For the weekend, I was meant to be in Maine, and as I return, I know that I am supposed to be here, wherever and whatever here is. I’m all in. So if you’re still wondering why I left, I’m sorry. Maybe next time, I’ll leave you speechless.

I look out from my tiny little porch towards the city. In Autumns past I’ve been excited about relationships and leaves falling with the changing of colors and the beauty that I find in the coldness of time upon my face. I remember places I’ve been, like Minnesota for a wedding or North Georgia meets Greenville where I’ve been surrounded by nature and people I love. This year, Autumn is somehow more connected to this city. I don’t know what it is, and I haven’t put my finger on it, but this Fall is Autumn and Atlanta; Autumn in Atlanta. And my anticipation is more like a boy looking for a bright new bike on Christmas morning than anything else.

Have you wondered why we keep getting rained on? I have. It’s as if I know Atlanta needs the rain. Without the extra watering, we might not be soulfully fruitful like we could be. And with that in mind, it makes sense that it’s still warm too. We’re not ready. The great hand of creation knows what’s good for her creatures, even if we have minds to possess our own creating. We’re still products of something greater. And when people are drowning and infrastructures are falling, I hope that it’s obvious enough.

I’m a pioneer for a celestial city, which I might not find ’til after I die, but I don’t know if giving up is the best mentality. Atlanta in transit needs some more ground-staking, some more expecting that we can be grand. We are full of peoples longing to be somebodies, full of folks longing for something greater. And my plea is this, my call to you is this: Try on Autumn in Atlanta this year. If you hear Sinatra singing about New York, be inspired to stay, not to leave.

I don’t know about you, but when the trees are shedding their leaves, and when I’m standing on my front porch during Autumn, my view of this city only gets better.