luke pruett

It was late, and the ferry felt cool in the summer’s evening breeze. We were only a week into my summer in Istanbul, but in our short time learning basic Turkish, navigating public transit, and hopping between Asia and Europe the way I do now between Highland and the Bypass, we felt like naturals. The warm glow of the nearest café’s neon sign welcomed us to the European shore where the five of us girls were staying for the week, and we didn’t need much convincing to stop in for a late-night dinner of pasta and whatever scrumptious-looking mystery pastry the shelf held.

To every season, turn, turn, turn. To every new chapter in the book of life, page turn. By closing one chapter it means we have to say goodbye to something that has changed us and transfer our energy into what’s next. It’s hard to say goodbye, especially when you were having a brilliant time, but it’s necessary because it helps remind you that there’s always tomorrow. For better or worse there are more things waiting up ahead. And this is how I currently feel.

Our lives are marked by transition, and our feet don’t grow roots to tell us when to stay put. At every new season we find ourselves uncertain about what a step in a new direction might mean for us. Maybe we are desperate for change to lift us out of our monotony or afraid we took a wrong step somewhere or disappointed by our careers. Maybe it’s the success-driven culture we are raised in—but sometimes choosing to stay put is the least appealing option. Especially in Jackson, Tennessee.

The Snow Day is a Southern Institution. Annually it affects our lives spent together in dramatic fashion. Schools close, milk is scant, and manufacturers of bread become wealthy overnight. As a life long Southerner the Snow Day is a cultural attribute of Southern life that I have come to adamantly defend.