A Turning Point

It was a beautiful autumn day. One where the sun seems to fire the burnished leaves with hidden light. The sky was as blue as a sapphire, and the temperature just cool enough to encourage exploration.

This day marked a turning point, had she but known it. It was the first time in her entire life where she had been, as they say, “on her own” like this. There was no one to tell her where to go or what to do. It was Saturday, and her workload was caught up…and here she was, by herself in Washington, D.C.

There was a vaguely uneasy sensation in the pit of her stomach as she considered an entire weekend in a strange location – all alone. With more a sense of grit, rather than excitement, she decided to avail herself of the marvels of museums and history. She would start at one of the Smithsonian Institutes.

This occurred in the days when things were still relatively innocent. It was the period before body scanners at airports, photo IDs to enter municipal buildings, and monuments were open to the public. There were no masks and relatively low suspicions toward one’s fellow man.

Jumping out of the cab she hailed, she made her way to the space museum. It was a mass of innovation, highlighting the intrepid accomplishments of scientists, explorers and rogues who would not be kept within the boundaries of gravity. The earth was their launching pad, and their inventions demonstrated their skill and temerity.

It was a strange thing for her not to have to have a schedule. If she wanted to read a placard more than once, it was ok.  No one was urging her to move along. The downside of not having someone to share the exhibits also came with an upside – she could ponder these mysteries as long as she liked; and, she did.

After wandering through the museum for a time, she made her way to the National Gallery of Art. The liberating experience at the Smithsonian caused her to wonder how it would feel to go through an art museum solo. It was more than she had ever imagined!

There were countless sculptures and paintings, many of which she had read about or seen in pictures. Each was set in a way to showcase it. At one point, in the reverential silence of an admiring crowd, she realized that beauty is meant to be assimilated and not jogged through. It did her heart good to stand and appreciate the artistry of Renaissance Masters, Impressionists and the unmatched beauty of marble sculptures that looked as if there was sinew under the surface of the polished rock.

Her pace slowed and appreciation deepened. Outside, a short walk from the museum was a garden. Somewhat faded now, it was still a sight to behold with the trees dressed in ruddy colors. She found a wrought iron table and chair and sat. It felt good after the hours of walking.

The sun was tipping toward the horizon, and she looked to find a cab and return to the hotel. Dinner would have to be addressed, and she was not sure she had the fortitude to venture out by herself for that just yet. Maybe tomorrow.

The next day took her to Memorials on the lawn. It was another picture-perfect day, and the crowds ambled about, looking at Lincoln, Franklin, and the Washington Monument. Seeing the Lincoln Memorial up-close as an adult was an entirely different experience than when she had been ten years old. Then, it was a massive and rather oppressive place. Now, after becoming an enjoyer of history, looking at the craggy face was deeply moving. Here was a representation of a man who profoundly changed the course of humanity – at the cost of his own life.

There was something in the expression of Lincoln that was somber and strong. Certainly not a handsome man, as he himself said, “If I were two-faced, would I be wearing this one?” Still, she found something so remarkable in his countenance. Again, not being rushed, she studied the statue for a long time.

Coming back to the present, she realized it was dusk and the sun had nearly set. She still wanted to see the Vietnam Memorial Wall and made her way in that direction. The grounds were still full of people milling about, so it was entirely safe.

It was dark when she arrived, but the walkway lights produced a gentle glow, reflecting off the ebony stone. Watching, she saw a young man and a woman who appeared to be siblings. They were searching, searching, searching.

Suddenly they stopped and the woman sank to her knees with a soft cry, reaching out her hands to touch a name carved into the wall. The man handed her paper and crayon of sorts to do a rubbing of the name. They bowed their heads. She stood immobile, watching their emotional scene.

After they arose, she quietly made her way to find a cab. She would never forget these two people who had found the name they were eagerly looking for. She longed to know their story. Was this a parent? Relative? Obviously, it was someone of great significance in their lives. Now, it was a series of letters sculpted into a hewn wall in the Capitol.

As the cab drove toward the hotel, she realized this weekend had changed her. Days, like fine works of art, are to be treasured. Moments of accomplishment, like the rockets she had passed earlier, propel one to even greater achievements. And lastly, she thought of the people who made the very fabric of her life. They are much, much more than names in granite. They were carved into the essence of her heart.

A pair of headlights flashed across her face. She was smiling. Washington D.C. would forever be a place of unexpected discoveries. It had also become her launching pad.