(Today’s article is by recurring guest writer and relatively recent Knoxville transplant Luke Frazier.)
There’s the thought that every day is really a lifetime in and of itself. We are born when we emerge from sleep, and unto sleep we shall return. What we do in between makes for the such-ness of that lifespan. To me, this perspective adds importance and urgency to each day.
Some days, like lives, are longer than others. My length and depth of sleep varies, so my amount of waking hours is always particular to that day. It’s true that every hour is 60 minutes, but the impressions left by time feel so variable. Thirty minutes in the dentist’s chair is sure different than a half-hour stroll through Exhibition Park on a sunny day.
Now I’ve been living in downtown Knoxville for about 700 days, with less than 30 to go. I’ve spent a lot of it in motion through downtown streets and parks and paths and bridges. I’ve walked all the close-in neighborhoods and a bit beyond. We moved here in 2022 from Cleveland when my wife landed a new job but knew it was going to be temporary. We had tried the year before to move to the east coast, but it didn’t work out. The goal remained to get closer to the beach, COVID having crystallized the desire to seek a sweeter life by the sea, and if nothing else East Tennessee got us moving in the right direction.
It turns out that Knoxville provided far more than we ever expected, it has become an enriching experience across all dimensions of life—personal, professional, social, and spiritual. In a word that I made up a few years ago it’s been an amazary, defined as a place of wonder, where rich meaning occurs.
One incredibly positive thing has been meeting Alan Sims, aka Urban Guy, and writing for Inside of Knoxville. I had this idea of short essays on sights and sounds of Knoxville from a newcomer’s perspective, but nobody was interested until Alan. We met and I just kept submitting pieces on whatever struck my fancy. He has been hugely affirming and a great resource, offering excellent editorial input when needed. Readers have also made some extremely positive comments along the way, and I’m thankful. I will carry this good vibe forward and use it wisely in the next chapter.
Before this chapter is closed, however, I’d like to share my top 10 leftover pictures from pieces that never got written for IOK. They all had a potential story angle at one point, glancing or otherwise, and a couple even had working titles and draft copy. All of them are from time spent looking around Knoxville and trying to grasp and respond to what is here. They are moments within time, which makes them part of a lifetime of connections.
The first is a discarded cardboard sign asking for help (top). It took a while to adjust to the urban reality of unhoused individuals around our neighborhood. It had been many years since I had worked with homeless men in D.C., and the juxtaposition of skyrocketing real estate and raw need threw me for a loop. Complex feelings, giving help occasionally, too often averting my gaze. I wrote a long piece and put it on the shelf.
The next is from what we jokingly called our front porch, a bench at the corner of West Jackson Ave and Gay St, and the picture peeks inside the Art Emporium building amidst the bouncing reflections. The hardest thing about renting an apartment was not having our own outdoor space.
The close up of tiles from the Cancer Survivors wall in Exhibition Park, underneath the Clinch St. Bridge are just the perfect reminder to be grateful and embrace the possible. Topsy-Turvey is the map for most of life, staying in the present brings the gifts.
One thing I thought I’d miss from up north was some kick-ass leaf color but I was wrong. There are some great bursts of downtown color to enjoy.
I did end up writing about trains rolling through my neighborhood but the picture of the guy getting up close and personal with a fast moving freight was taken long after. I honestly hoped I wasn’t going to witness something awful and was relieved when the man backed up a few seconds later.
The Gay St. Bridge was part of my regular walking routes and some days the clouds were beyond description. Knoxville was consistently fantastic when it came to clouds, and I tried to pay close attention. It was gratifying to have had so many folks respond to my piece about cloud reflections on the First Horizon Building, we are united in our loving appreciation: clouds rule!
We found Mead’s Quarry soon after arriving here, which led to the discovery of the Urban Wilderness and all its beauty. I started a piece about the trails, but it didn’t go anywhere. It turns out that a partial collapse of this cliff a few weeks ago makes this picture a historical record.
Rainbows are a personal cynico-meter, I can usually tell what kind of spiritual condition I am in by how long I gaze at one. If I’m harried and hurried and can’t be bothered to enjoy, there’s probably something I need to adjust internally. This gorgeous band across the southern sky from my parking lot was appreciated in all its glory.
If a proud sunflower rising up from an otherwise rubbly parking lot is a little too precious a symbol of renewal for you, see note above about rainbows. This declaration of life after an old garage was taken down off State St. told its own story but it didn’t last long.
Finally, the windowless ATT building that is a constant in my only apartment view can rankle if I let it. On this night however, a combination of natural and man-made light created a calm atmosphere of inevitability, and I still might yet write a piece on streetlights for a publication somewhere.
Meantime, I’ll let Knoxville days turn into somewhere else nights, knowing full well we’ve all got a lifetime to live tomorrow.