I step outside the conference center to make my way home. One sprinkle, two, then three in quick succession. Rain wasn’t in my plan today. An hour’s drive this morning, followed by eight hours of writing sessions means a longing to get home, especially before dark. 

Raindrops dance on my nose, my forehead, and smudge my glasses. I’m dressed for sunshine. No head covering, umbrella or jacket. No rainboots. No poncho. Only jeans, Toms, and a thin blue T-shirt. It rarely rains in Phoenix. 

The campus of Arizona State University stretches for miles—citylike—testing my memory from college days, forty-five years before. For a small-town girl, this campus seemed enormous back then. A lot has changed and it has grown, as I have. Something in the air makes me pause to remember. Four years of fun, friends, and newly found independence. 

The parking garage is at least a mile from the conference center, and I realize nothing around me looks familiar. Now the rain pours, falling heavily onto my head and back as I look down at my phone. I walk at a quick pace, trying to make my way with GPS to guide me. Puddles meet me at every turn. I slosh my way through them with no way around them. I stop long enough to look at the weather app. FLOOD WATCH. Dangerous conditions for the next four hours. I start to panic.

The map on my phone shows my location and the walking path I’m supposed to take, yet the words scream: REROUTING…Follow the path! Which path? And after taking a turn, REROUTING…Follow the path! I’m following the damn path! But then I realize I’m following it in the wrong direction. I turn around and head the other way, still confused. 

Again, I stop. Look up. The sky grows darker by the minute, and ink-blue angry clouds burst open above me. I notice that on either side of me for what seems like miles along the sidewalk are tall, soldier-like trees standing straight as if at attention. Each tree is crowned with palm leaves, swaying in the wind like they have just found freedom. And it dawns on me. This is Palm Walk. The iconic pedestrian mall I strolled along five days a week for four years as I found my way to classes and into adulthood. I’d written about Palm Walk as a college freshman. Those 110 date palms along the path are now more than 100 years old. 

I forget about the rain, the puddles, the long drive home. I revel in the memories of my life on campus, and soon every building I pass has more meaning—Hayden Library, Old Main, Memorial Union, and in the distance Manzanita dormitory where I met the friends I still adore. I can smell the sweet, earthy scent of mesquite, palo verde, and other desert-friendly trees and shrubs. I’m eighteen again. 

An enormous jetliner sweeps swiftly, gracefully across the sky, through the clouds. A flock of sparrows glides through the atmosphere as if they are following the jet to its destination. 

Gazing back down to earth, I observe people rushing past me in different directions. A sudden cold chill creeps along my arms upward toward my neck, and suddenly I’m back in school. An icy shiver sends goosebumps across my flesh, not because it is cold, but because I feel young again. A flood of memories rushes over me, those days of growth and freedom. Peace. 

I vaguely hear voices from far away muttering indistinct words. Students speed past me on scooters, skateboards, and bikes. Almost everyone looks at their phones as they make their way to wherever they are headed. Back in the day, we didn’t have mobile phones or GPS. But somehow, we made it work. We planned ahead. We found our way. 

Those palm trees still stand erect in their linear fashion as if protecting me from the outside world. As I approach the end of my journey along Palm Walk, the scene, mysterious yet romantic, engulfs me and my imagination for only a few brief minutes. It seems like a lifetime. 

My fear dissipates. I find my car. Although it takes a couple of hours to get home through slow rush-hour traffic and rain pounding onto the windshield, I turn up the music and smile. 

I’ve come a long way. Not just this drive. But in my life. And it is all good.