Editor’s note: Flyer writers will occasionally share this space.
The stormy spring season has thrown a wrench into my carefully crafted plans this year. Power outages, lost internet connections, new patio furniture hurled from my balcony thanks to strong winds, and rained-out soccer games have been April staples (although my hamstring is grateful for the last one). But as the old saying goes, “April showers bring May flowers.” April has indeed been a bit of a wet blanket, but it’s set to usher in some other notable moments for yours truly.
One such moment is May 12th, a day I’ve had circled on the calendar for the better part of this year. That day, as I’m sure most of you readers are aware, is the official release of The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom, in which the intrepid hero Link will continue to traipse around the wild expanse of an open kingdom of Hyrule. That big mountain off in the distance? You can go there, if you want. The ocean stretching off into the horizon? Go build a boat and sail. Or just fly around the floating island in the sky, soaking up the joy of unparalleled freedom in digital format.
While the game and its predecessor, Breath of the Wild, do capture a freedom unlike anything else in the medium, such wanderlust was a big part of my live, non-digital time growing up in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The views from our patio unfolded endlessly into an expanse of snow-capped mountains, infinite blue skies, and rollicking fluffy clouds. And the recurring pastel sunsets, I must inform you all, put Memphis’ to shame. That little peak jutting up way in the distance? Well, odds are that you can probably head over, hike up to the top, and catch a different view of the sunset.
I picked up a friend before heading to the Porter-Leath Rajun Cajun Crawfish Festival this past weekend, and she stopped by my car trunk for a few beats. “Why do you still have your New Mexico license plate?” she asked, with a mixed look of both interest and distaste. And that proved to be an excellent question. This summer marks the start of another year in Memphis and as a citizen of the Mid-South. And I don’t regret a second of it, learning about the city, finally having a professional basketball team to root for, and having close proximity to the best kind of barbecue. But as I’ve settled into the humdrum routine of life as an adult in a city that requires a car for traversal, it has sometimes felt like a balancing act of absorbing the influences of my new city and holding on to that fleeting feeling of freedom from my Santa Fe years.
No longer can I step outside and immediately set foot onto an interconnected series of complex mountainous hiking trails or turn to my left and see someone walking their llama up a dirt road. The yellow license plate, complete with the requisite Zia symbol in the middle, has always been a pleasant reminder of the sky-blue desert days before I begin a journey to work Downtown that requires nimble maneuvering through myriad speed bumps, construction zones, and our patented potholes. This might all sound a bit negative, but I love my new city. I wouldn’t change a thing about my time here and hope to have many more memorable Memphis years.
But my pieces of Santa Fe have been drifting away in the past couple years. My New Mexico driver’s license disappeared along with my entire wallet at a Grizzlies playoff game last year (still worth it), and now this summer, the state of Tennessee is insistent that my NM license plate finally be replaced with one of their own. The dilly-dallying of our county clerk has given me a little extra time with my beloved yellow plate, but my last material connection to New Mexico isn’t long for this world. It’s been a steady companion over the years, as I’ve navigated some mild fish-out-of-water feelings while functioning alongside many friends and colleagues who have personal and long-standing connections to Memphis and the Mid-South. I’ve always wondered when I can truly call myself a Memphian, or perhaps that benchmark was passed long ago. Again, I love being part of the 901 and all it entails. But letting go of the yellow license plate has just been that little bit harder than I thought.
Greg Cravens