Not-Dallas
McKinney, as I mentioned last week, is a half hour from being decidedly in Dallas. But it's also a half hour from being way out of Dallas.
Unsurprisingly to those who know me, 90 percent of the time, I pick the latter over the former. If I'm driving half an hour anywhere, chances are, it's to the middle of nowhere.
It’s not nowhere, really, of course. Many "small towns" north of Dallas aren't truly that small to begin with; and besides, I've told you before how I feel about them.
Small town Texas has soul that a large city just can't.
Small towns feel more like people than places, and the space around them lets me exhale.
Additionally, when I can't seem to slow my mind down, I run or drive — to catch my body up, to set the mental and physical in balance.
In this season, on top of the usual spin cycle of thoughts and ideas that constantly fill my brain, the past few months have been comprised of big changes to process. That means I’ve done a lot of pavement-pounding in recent days, and gunning it away from crowds and noise to somewhere with breathing room has been even more gratifying and grounding than usual.
Some of my favorite moments since moving, in fact, have been on quiet roads between map dots. I guess you could say my favorite part of Dallas is... Not Dallas. And I’m alright with that.
