Mel Jones
Home, at Last
A newcomer finds just what she’s looking for in Richmond
Richmond is not the type of place that seduces you with lofty promises of fame and fortune like iconic New York or glamorous Los Angeles.
Richmond is more like a best friend you’ve had for years who startles you into love, making you realize it’s what you wanted your entire life.
I landed in Richmond after living in six other cities and one other country. The last city, Washington, D.C., was exactly how people imagine it: diverse, smart and expensive. It was a historical wonderland full of lovely people and terrible traffic.
It never felt like home.
I always longed for a place where I felt safe; where I knew my neighbors; where I could be known and know others deeply; where I could make an impact in tangible ways; and yes, where I could afford a house. I thought I moved to be closer to family who had relocated here, but Richmond was always what I was looking for — I just didn’t know it yet.
In the 13 months I’ve lived here, I’ve found it to be so much more than what I imagined it would be. My Church Hill neighbors know the names of all the stray cats in the neighborhood. They send meals to new moms and invite me to dinner in their homes. They bicker in Facebook groups about petty theft, bad dogs, gentrification and ghastly drivers, and they heap praise on local businesses and people doing their best to bring beauty and life to a burgeoning city.
This is what home feels like: warm and comforting and sometimes messy, with a lot of drama. It’s the place where I know we all want the best for everyone who lives here, although we don’t always agree on the ideal way to make it happen. And like many homes, underneath the surface of all the coziness and small talk and good food and beautiful surroundings, there is generational trauma we are scared to drag out into the open. We’re afraid that if we do, it might never heal. But if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that families who acknowledge pain and make amends become stronger and more vibrant for generations to come.
I believe the future of Richmond in 2020 and beyond rests on its ability to pursue reconciliation, to embrace both love and truth, to navigate our differences as if they were unique gifts and not singular burdens. Only then can Richmond leverage the talents of all its citizens to be the place of its own dreams.
Richmond isn’t a Milan or a Chicago or a London or a Berlin.
It’s a Richmond, and there’s no place I’d rather be.
Mel Jones is a writer and freelance journalist whose work has been featured in The Atlantic and The Washington Monthly. She’s lived in a lot of places but has only called Richmond home.
Sarah Mendelsohn Kim
Farewell, Fond Friend
After 26 years in Richmond, it’s hard to say goodbye
I moved from D.C. to Richmond in 1993, when my college friend Steve Kim evolved into an actual boyfriend, and I had hopes of marriage.
Fast-forward 26 years, and I am packing boxes with Steve — now my husband and the father of our two adult children — to move to Manhattan on a two-year adventure.
We got married in the spring of 1994 and talked about living in Richmond for three years before venturing onward. But as we fell in love with the city, we declined opportunities to move. Though we were outsiders, hailing from Maryland and New Jersey, we found our place here.
Now I am feeling sentimental as my gratitude flows to friendships old and new; to Richmond’s schools, doctors, parks, trails and museums; and to the many nonprofit organizations I am proud to have served. My nonprofit work helped me gain a greater understanding of the city’s needs: a cleaner river, accessible art and science education for urban youth, access to healthy food and job training, and thoughtful preservation of the city’s complicated history.
In these final weeks, I am constantly brought back to small moments that are emblematic of the larger issues that both inspire and challenge Richmond. Every day on my way to The Valentine, where I served as deputy director for the past five years, I passed a gentleman with a cardboard sign. Some days I gave him a dollar. Some days I did not. But his wave and smile were always the same. I will miss him.
I wish I had one of those dollars for every time I walked the Nickel Bridge, filled with gratitude for the sunrises and sunsets that took my breath away. I have trouble imagining that a walk in Central Park will top it.
While I choose to see the beauty in the people and spaces that make Richmond unique, I know that the city is plagued by a difficult past and present. Too many struggle to meet basic needs; the river that is now a source of enjoyment is also a reminder of the slave economy that built our city. My mind struggles with these issues daily, and I feel conflicted when I say, “I love Richmond,” but I really do. The people that I have come to know and the organizations that I have served refuse to let history write the future. The personal connections and the caring ways have always been what kept my family here.
As I head off to a city where people walk faster and perhaps look up less often, I vow to hold on to my Richmond ways and to smile and notice and acknowledge the people I pass.
Thank you, Richmond.
Sarah Mendelsohn Kim has been involved in Richmond’s nonprofit community for more than 25 years. Even from an apartment in Manhattan, Richmond will always be home.
