So, in my travels this weekend, I was driving up Federal Boulevard in Denver, Colorado on the first weekend in May. If you have ever lived in Denver, you know this is not something you want to do. Cinco de Mayo is celebrated. The rogue element of the celebration is "cruising" Federal - making this road and all the roads leading to it virtually impassible.
I used to live 2 blocks from Federal in North Denver. It is a traditionally hispanic neighborhood. It is now one of those gentrified old neighborhoods with wonderful restaurants and cute shops. It is a beautiful old area with flagstone sidewalks, old trees, old houses, and old churches. But in 1998, Cinco de Mayo got so out of control, I holed up in my house for the entire weekend. I was afraid to leave the house. I should have left, but I didn't know if I could get out. The noise from the cars was deafening, and terrifying. In the end, there were (if I recall correctly) two murders, two blocks from my house.
After that weekend, I decided to move.
It is funny that this is not part of my "story." I don't think of my decision to move that way. Maybe it isn't flattering to me. I only remember this when it is the first weekend in May and I have visceral reminders of that time.
If you asked me last week why I moved from North Denver to the southern suburbs, I would have told you it was closer to work and that I couldn't afford to buy the old house I was living in - and I couldn't afford the upkeep on it. All of that is true, but those are not the real reasons. The real reason was that I couldn't live in a house where I would be trapped by rioting crowds for 3 days a year.
It does make you wonder what else you may have "revised" ....
That's why I have friends and family and a wonderful sponsor for frequent reality checks. And thank God for them.