Today I had a meeting downtown. I think I am probably the only sane person who loves having meetings downtown (unless it involves rush-hour traffic, of course). I am fortunate to live in (okay, near, I'm too poor to live in) one of the greatest cities in the world.
Since I first laid eyes on the stunning views of the city as a 10-year-old child, DC has had an unmistakable pull on me. It's expensive, the traffic is terrible, and the hot, humid summers can be almost unbearable at times, and I love it. I absolutely love living here. I especially love being downtown. It is the only city that has felt like "home" since I moved out of my parents' house nine years ago.
Coming in from my office in suburban Virginia, I cross the Roosevelt Bridge. From the Roosevelt bridge, you really can't see much of the famous landmarks of the otherwise unremarkable DC skyline, but I still feel almost giddy about going into the city. My sunroof was open (the first day without oppressive heat and humidity in almost a week) and "God Bless the USA" was blaring from my CD player (Sidenote: this is yet another illustration of being a late adopter. I don't even have satellite radio). It was a particularly good day.
I've heard accusations that "God Bless the USA" is cheesy. But it is one of three songs (the others being "Stars and Stripes Forever," a song I exclusively relate with DC in my mind, and "America the Beautiful") that makes me swell with pride and emotion every time I hear it. It brings back memories of a day, almost four years ago, when I was standing on a pier at Norfolk Naval Base waiting to glimpse the USS Enterprise, returning home in glory as the first battlegroup involved in Operation Enduring Freedom. I was waiting for Himself, who left as my boyfriend and was returning as my fiance. "God Bless the USA" played over the loudspeaker, and the estimated 25,000 on the pier joined, teary-eyed, in singing along. To a group of people who had lived a very personal part of 9/11, the words meant more than most of us could admit without tearing up. To this day, it causes my eyes to water and my heart to beat faster.
Today was no different. Even as I was muttering euphemisms for four-letter words under my breath at the lack of parking and the unusually slow pedestrians eating up my green light ("No Right on Red" may as well be downtown's mantra, for as many signs as it is posted on), I paused to marvel at the grotesque grandeur of the Old Executive Office Building. I prayed for a red light at the corner of 16th and H streets so I could gape at the White House and the brilliant red flowers in Lafayette Park. I reveled in people enjoying lunch in Franklin Park. This is my city.
On the way home, I was forced to take the "scenic" drive, since the direct route is HOV only (2 people per car) during the late afternoon. I gleefully zipped along Whitehurst Freeway to Canal Road, which parallels the C&O canal and the Potomac, to Chain Bridge. It is shrouded in trees and expensive real estate and is one of my favorite drives in the city. I love the breathtaking view of the river as it tumbles over huge rocks below Chain Bridge. It makes for good thinking. I thought about how much I loved that there were sweeping patches of green in the middle of the city. I thought about how much I love the open space feeling of the city as a result of the height limit. I thought about my favorite places, how much I loved to escape my office when I worked downtown and just wander the streets during my lunch hour. I thought about my favorite drives, restaurants, places to visit, stores and interesting pieces of trivia ...
I couldn't think of a place I'd rather live right now, than with the greatest America has to offer only minutes from my backyard. I am truly blessed.
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