One night last November, I was walking my dog, Murphy. One good thing about living in a small town is that you can still do that late at night.
Unfortunately, a bad thing about living in a small town is that you don’t get much of a change of scenery after years of walking the same dog down the same streets.
But on this particular late autumn evening, I found myself cutting down an alley where I do not normally go. In fact, I am not sure I had ever gone down that little two-block stretch of alleyway before.
It runs parallel to Route 104, the main east-west highway that runs through town. From this alley, I could see the backs of several businesses that I only knew as places that I would drive past on the way home from work.
It occurred to me that evening, that I had lived in this town for nearly 15 years. I had driven that stretch of road thousands upon thousands of times, always past the same storefronts.
But tonight, I was seeing the same old stores, garages and bar from a completely different perspective—from the back. For a moment, I felt like I was in a completely different place than my boring old town.
As Murphy and I came out of the alley and angled back toward the highway (and our home on the other side of it), we came upon the water tower. Like everything else on this stretch of road, I had driven past it thousands of times.
Then something weird happened. For reasons I did not, and still can not comprehend, I felt an overwhelming urge to touch the water tower. I couldn’t give you a rational reason for this if I tried, but I guess there was just something about being somewhere I had never been that compelled me to do something I had never done. I found myself thinking, “Have I EVER touched a water tower? Anywhere?” I could not recall ever having done so.
So I walked over and touched the water tower. For a good long while, maybe a minute or two. Nothing unusual about it—just painted metal.
Murphy looked at me all the while with the canine mixture of anticipation, concern and that not-all-there look that dogs have. “Dad, can we go now? Are you OK? I’m Murphy; I like bacon!” If you have a dog, you know that look.
It was a completely meaningless action, touching the water tower, but just the fact that I did it broke chains off my brain. This simple, inconsequential act instantly drove home the lesson that there is always a new way of looking at things, no matter how many times you have seen them before.
So I have decided to make “touching the water tower” my life’s motto. I am finding myself trying foods that I would not ordinarily. I travel to new places whenever I can, even if they’re only 5 minutes away. I find myself relating to my kids differently, as I try to remember what it’s like to experience something as a child, for the first time.
And one of the most significant things that I’m doing differently with my life? Well, you’re reading it right now. My degree was in writing, but I spent 20 years in the workaday world never nurturing this gift. Now, it’s almost as natural as breathing to me.
And all because I touched a stupid water tower.
