Living in Macon, Georgia isn’t going to be what I expected.
You may be surprised, but I don’t try to travel with a completely open mind. I’d rather have expectations, then adjust them based on what I experience. I like feeling prepared, and revising expectations gives me an opportunity to analyze where they came from in the first place so I can gain insight into how we think, me and the people around me.
When he heard I was going to Macon, the Prince’s reaction was interesting: “It’s one of the highest crime rates in the nation!” he said. That was comforting. Definitely left an impression. Other memories of South Georgia, the grit and grime of Valdosta especially, made me wonder if I was headed to a really unsafe situation.
But Friday, as I finally turned off I-75 south of Macon, I found myself in farm country. I saw no drug deals, no suspicious-looking persons, no dirty streets or run-down buildings. My charming castle I found tucked off the main road among huge trees. The magnolias were blooming. I couldn’t hear the highway; the songbirds drowned any distant rumble with their cheerfulness.
I quickly unpacked and settled in (finally, I’m starting to learn what I do and don’t need to travel!) From my beautiful window, I can see over the balcony to the pool below and the forest beyond that. It’s a country mile to the grocery store, McDonalds, and for that matter, anything to call civilization.
In other parts of Macon, the city definitely lives up to my expectations as a scary place. Out here in the fields, though, it’s happily nothing like I thought it would be. I’m delighted to find myself here, eating buttered bread on the balcony and enjoying the quiet, the big trees and green grass, the friendliness… all benefits of a country mile.