her perspective
I ♥ Pensacola
By Liz Biggs
My son recently moved back to Pensacola after being away for ten years. We went out to dinner, and he excused himself to go wash up. He didn’t return to the table for almost 30 minutes. Where was he? Well, if you’re from Pensacola, you know where he was. Friends recognized him and wanted to know what he’s been up to. His Boy Scout leader, the carpool mom from elementary school, his high school friend’s parents — they all wanted to talk. He decided he needs to shorten his life story — condense it to a rehearsed sentence or two – so he can get back to the table before the food gets cold next time.
In his defense, he’s been living in big cities like Houston and Phoenix. When I visited, I noticed people in general were a bit more hardened, impatient, uncaring, less polite. Maybe they needed some saltwater therapy. Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore, and Lizzie, you’re not in Pensacola anymore, I thought to myself. After a while, he forgot what it was like to live in a small town. I told him to always allow extra time at Publix — 30 minutes to shop and 30 minutes to talk to all your neighbors and friends in the aisles. My husband is always shocked when I run in for three items and return an hour later fully informed about everyone’s lives.
That’s the thing about being born and raised in a small town — you take it for granted. You don’t notice how fun it was until you move away and go from being a big fish in a small pond to a tiny fish in a vast ocean. That ocean is so refreshing at first. Anonymity is cool for a change — you can reinvent yourself, lose your southern accent, and try new things. But after a while, that ocean can be overwhelming, and the current gets rough. There are sharks out there and they bite. You long for that small pond where people are kind and look out for each other. That wonderful place where if your neighbors see your car gone for a while they will feed your cats. Where your mailman takes the extra steps to bring your packages ’round back and stops his new mail truck to chat with your elderly neighbors.
When I was 18, I wanted nothing more than to bust out of this one-horse town and live in a big city. After four years of college in Mobile and 11 years working in Atlanta, coming home to Pensacola was a welcome respite. Yes, everyone knows (or wants to know) your business — but mostly because they CARE.
When I was recovering from cancer, this town rallied to help me feel better. Friends and teammates brought me dinner and sent me flowers. An artist friend dropped off a tiny, beautiful thing. A friend drove way across town to drop off some magical beef broth that soothed my soul.
My oldest son and his wife just bought their first home in Atlanta; we are so happy for them. About seven years ago, an old friend took the time and effort to write him a letter of recommendation to a graduate program at Emory University. He was accepted, and the trajectory of his life changed. I am forever grateful to my old friend, but he was humble when I expressed my thanks. “That’s what we do here in Pensacola. We take the time to help people,” he stated.
I see and feel that more and more every day. Pensacola is a very special place. In addition to beautiful beaches, we have kind, caring people. Sometimes you have to get away for a while to realize how wonderful it is here. My boy learned that lesson firsthand and I think he’s here to stay.
