Houston: A City of Contrasts

Houston wasn’t on my bucket list, but it’s where the road to healing has led me. Between the hospital visits, city noise, and unexpected moments of beauty, I’ve learned that gratitude often shows up in the most unlikely places.

“No way I would live here. It’s too big. Too crowded. Sirens, traffic, and the sounds of the interstate never far from anywhere create a constant cacophony.”

John and I sat at an obscure intersection on Holcombe Avenue in Houston, Texas, not far from the MD Anderson Cancer Center hospital, waiting for the light to turn green. As cross-traffic turned left from the opposite street, John said, “Watch that, Kelly.”

“Watch what?” I asked.

“The cars as they pick up speed going down the street.”

As I watched, an SUV turned across the intersection onto the street ahead of us. It was almost cartoonish — the SUV pitching and dipping as though the road were made of rubber. It must have been traveling more than 35 miles per hour, undeterred by the rough concrete. Any faster, and it might have gone airborne.

You may think I’m exaggerating, but you would be mistaken. If you haven’t been to Houston — at least to this part of Houston — let me tell you what you’re missing.

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Beauty and Chaos, Side by Side

There are some of the most beautiful residential areas you might ever wish to live in: mansions with manicured Zoysa grass lawns, palm trees, azaleas, oaks, and every species of tropical and native flowers that thrive in the heat and humidity.

As you drive closer to the Texas Medical Center with its collection of high-rise facilities housing all kinds of specialties, including the MD Anderson Cancer Center, you will see parks and gazebos, fountains and other water features that make you feel like you’ve stepped into a resort district.

Valets stand ready at the sweeping semicircular drive of the Main Building, where parking costs a flat $20. Otherwise, you can try your luck in one of the nearby parking garages.

Pretty much anywhere you drive, except the main thoroughfares and the interstates, the streets can be described in one word: terrible.

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The Streets That Buckle and Bounce

Yes, I know, there are potholes in the streets and roadways in every town in the United States. I admit mine in Navarre, Florida are probably some of the worst, but at least you can see most of the potholes before you hit them.

Here in Houston, it’s not potholes but upheaval. The streets look more like wide sidewalks that have buckled from tree roots pushing up the ground under them. There are stretches where the right side of one lane is a good six inches higher than the one beside it, concrete poured atop cracks like patchwork bandages. The lanes are narrow too  — imagine 2.3 million people driving along those lanes at one time or another, half of them on their cell phones as they bounce and sway just inches from the side mirrors of the car next to them.

It isn’t tree roots, though, that have turned Houston streets into tire-popping obstacle courses. My cousin tells me the hurricanes — most recently Hurricane Beryl in July 2024 — are largely to blame, and the city simply can't keep up with the repairs.

No wonder most Houstonians seem to prefer SUV’s. They fly past Floridians like we’re sitting still, seemingly oblivious to the dips and jolts that would rattle smaller cars to pieces.

To say it’s intimidating and nerve-wracking would be accurate for me; for some, I’m sure it’s positively terrifying. John navigates them all with (mostly) calm expertise.

Still — no way I would live here. Always, the sirens and traffic, the ceaseless hum of the interstate — the soundtrack of this enormous city. As one of my nurses put it, "I mean, how many loops can they build around Houston?"

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Houston's Saving Grace: The Food

And yet ... Houston redeems itself in other ways. One of its best features is the food. Every cuisine imaginable is here — flavors from every corner of the world waiting to tempt your palate.

John is more adventurous than I am when it comes to culinary tastes, although he claims his taste buds aren’t particularly discerning. That may be true; it would explain some of his more questionable habits.

He eats the crunchy tails of broiled or fried shrimp. He'll open a can of spinach, green beans or mackerel and eat it cold. He even likes dry macaroni straight from the box — and, disturbingly, steak tartare.

Sorry — eating raw meat seems downright uncivilized, especially when you consider that in Wisconsin they call raw ground steak on a bun, a “cannibal sandwich.” Thankfully, we haven’t found a restaurant here that serves steak tartare, though he always orders his cuts of steak rare. I've learned not to watch.

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The Museum District and a Pause for Perspective

Food aside, another appealing aspect of Houston is the museum district not far from the medical center. The area includes The Houston Museum of Natural History, The Holocaust Museum, and the Museum of Fine Arts, among many others.

John and I thought about visiting the Museum of Natural History, but I didn’t feel in my physically weakened state that I would last the three hours it takes to explore it fully. Perhaps we'll return someday — not for treatment, but just to sightsee.

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Gratitude Amid the Cacophony

While my perspectives on this massive city may seem mostly negative, it’s only because I prefer spaces that are wider open with fewer people — places where nature’s beauty is abundant, where I can stroll through wooded landscapes or kick up the white sand on the Gulf beaches.

But my places don’t have the medical facilities and therapies that can help me reach remission. Because of that, I’ve come to appreciate this great American city — its generosity, its world-class care, and the people who have made our time here bearable and even hopeful.

For all its noise and chaos, Houston is where healing lives — and for now, that is enough.

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