Discovering the Magic of Washington, D.C.: A Personal Journey Through History, Culture, and Wonder

There’s something about D.C. that lifts me. I don’t know what exactly: the density of history, and maybe the rhythm of the streets, but I always feel lighter there. Enthusiastic, even. Like a kid full of curiosity. I’ve walked those streets more times than I can count, and each time, it feels like stepping into a version of myself I forgot I needed.

My first visit was the summer between eighth and ninth grade. It was a class trip to D.C. and New York. My first real kiss happened on the plane, somewhere above Virginia, with my first serious girlfriend. Later, my parents kept an apartment in Pentagon City, and I visited them there more often than I did at home. D.C. became a kind of second skin.

I’ve been there for the Fourth of July. I watched The Force Awakens at the IMAX in the Air & Space Museum. I’ve seen Cat Stevens and Ozzy Osbourne perform a dueling Peace Train and Crazy Train on the National Mall. I’ve walked those streets in the backdrop of different ages, different purviews, different versions of myself. And always, there’s a lightness; a kind of emotional reprieve.

My earliest memory is sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial with Syd and our friends. The vendors selling cheap plastic souvenirs corrupted the scene a little, mostly because they blocked my view of the Reflecting Pool. But even then, I felt something. The weight of history. The joy of being there. That trip helped shape who I am and who I wanted to be.

I grew up in Boerne, Texas, a small town with a big Fourth of July show. Every year, we drive to the county fairgrounds and watch the fireworks. I’ve seen them in New York, too, but they didn’t compare. Still, I was curious what the nation’s capital had in store.

The Mall was swarming. Vendors selling alien heads, inflatable Uncle Sams, and handheld spinney things. A stage was set up in front of the Capitol. Smokey Robinson and Kenny Loggins played. I spent most of the evening near the Washington Monument, and when the fireworks started—behind the Lincoln Memorial—I was standing near the World War II Memorial. I took one of my favorite photos there: the silhouette of the memorial against the lingering firework light, Mie scattering through the smoke. It’s grainy, imperfect, but it holds something. Boerne’s show was good. D.C.’s was better. That’s what I hoped for.

The Air & Space Museum is one of my favorites. I can still picture it perfectly, the Wright Flyer’s private room, the Spirit of St. Louis, the Bell X-1, the SR-71 Blackbird. The Enterprise prop from the original Star Trek series is behind glass. There’s an IMAX theatre that shows documentaries, but I happened to be there when The Force Awakens was released. A friend of my dad’s, a lobbyist on The Hill, got us tickets. When the opening crawl started and John Williams’ score filled the room, I got goosebumps. I’m not a die-hard fan, but I’ve seen every movie up to the spinoffs. Abrams brought new life to the franchise. Rian Johnson, not so much. Still, I’m proud to have seen that one—The Force Awakens—in that theatre.

And then there was the Rally to Restore Sanity. Jon Stewart was a voice of moderation, not progressivism. He wasn’t a champion of liberal ideals, though many assumed he was. He challenges biases on both sides. He spoke to a largely liberal audience, but his purview was balanced. He was sharpest during the Iraq War and W.’s presidency, which earned him more conservative resentment than anything Trump ever did.

I was living in New York when Stewart announced the rally. Ariana Huffington provided buses for anyone who wanted to go. I was one of them. We left early, arrived late, but I made it. Some didn’t. The bus dropped us a few blocks from the Capitol, and we walked the rest. More than 250,000 people were there. Sheryl Crow, Sam Waterson, The Roots, John Legend, Jeff Tweedy. And then Cat Stevens. I didn’t expect that.

He started playing Peace Train. The crowd lost it. Then Colbert walked on stage and interrupted him. I was livid. I probably shouted something profane. But then Ozzy Osbourne walked out screaming, “All Aboard!” and launched into Crazy Train. The two of them, Cat Stevens and Ozzy, are performing dueling trains. It was one of the most incredible things I’ve seen on stage. And I’ve seen a lot.

D.C. doesn’t feel real to me. It’s like stepping into a film set, a place outside of time. When I’m there, I’m not worried about anything. I’m just present. Just walking. And then there are the escalators. If you’ve lived in a major city, you know the rule: stand on the right, walk on the left. D.C. has more escalators than anywhere else, it seems. And somehow, that detail reminds me of everything else about the city, its rhythm, its etiquette, its quiet insistence on movement. D.C. is a playground. A place I return to every chance I get.