The other night, I was sitting on my piazza with a friend and just for kicks, we were going through our old diaries. I found an entry dated 10/8/1996, written a month and a half after I had left Charleston post-college, moved back to Atlanta and was contemplating what to do with my life. It rang so true still today, and reminded me of the powerful draw this beautiful city has always had on me. As I say to people with a wink, who might be visiting or moving here…”You better be careful, because Charleston gets under your skin, and you’ll never want to leave her. And if you do, you’ll always want to come back.”
So here is the 1996 entry. Please forgive my 22-yr old angst…
“Reading the book Beach Music was weird for me. It was a good book, but mostly it reminded me of how much I miss Charleston. I have a strange way of dealing with goodbyes. I think I have reached a point where I am over it, where I have moved on, then all of a sudden the pangs of missing move in.
I miss the sunrises and sunsets, watching the sky turn pink and yellow and red and purple over the Connector. I miss the citrus colored houses – all unique and old. I miss the smell of low tide and the sound and tenderness of the water. I miss the big oaks with the eerie moss, and the palmetto trees. I miss people walking around and sunshine. I miss the courtyards with all the slate and the banana trees and the stone walls. The squirrels, the birds, the flowers, the marsh, the bridges, the sand, the pluff mud and the saxophone man. But mostly I miss the interweaving of the town and the people, its spirit and the soul. I miss the wonder of every single day…”
So please don’t leave me alone with my 22-yr-old angst. Tell me your lovelorn tales of Charleston!