The Weighty Place(s)
So there's this place. I used to go to it a lot. But now I don't.
Now I only go to this place when it just feels like it's been too long since I've been there.
The space in between my visits lengthens with the passing of time, and every new re-entry is met with more joyous--and more fearful--anticipation.
You know, kind of like when you leave home for the first time? At first you go back and visit a lot, try to keep in touch with everyone and everything, maintain those ties. But then, as life has pulled you off in another direction, that home doesn't feel like home anymore. And when you visit it it's like you truly are just a visitor now. Seeing it with fresh eyes. And maybe it's seeing you with fresh eyes too. Maybe you're not meant for each other anymore. Being meant for each other only worked in that other lifetime.
Of course this angle can be seen with relationships too.
Think about break-ups, divorce.
Places, though. They hold their own in emotional weight.
I think of someone I know, who recently happened upon a visit to a town they'd lived in years ago, with another partner, in another phase of life. I realized how emotional that whole visit must've been for that person. This became more clear to me when that person said they were going to stay in that place and walk around, look around, a bit longer than everyone else.
"Sure," everyone else said.
The silence and the expressions said the rest.
We knew.
Or, maybe it was just me who knew. Because I knew just what that was like.
Walk around, take it in, think the things, remember the stuff, mix and muddle it around, try to make sense of it, try to mesh the old-you with the now-you.
Sometimes all that works, but sometimes it maybe just makes you wanna "go get a drink"...or do that other thing that's your version of that.
Or maybe, if you've been reading this blog so far, you're thinking, "Well, no, it just makes me want to do my healing habit!" Well if so, good for you!
The place, though.
I went to this place recently.
I walked in to this big space. I knew I would be welcomed, and I longed for that feeling of belonging and familiarity and comfort that it had brought me many times.
But I have changed. That place changed me, and so have many, many other things.
I have changed, but places sometimes stay the same. And then there's a mis-mash.
In the midst of the joy and community and anticipation I felt there also lurked things that I don't really like to be reminded of. Things off in the corner, or behind a post, or waiting, or arriving later. Like those things that exist in our minds that we sometimes just want to push away because they bring with them a sadness, or anger, or disappointment, or disgust. They bring an, "I'd rather not think about that." An image, a memory, a smell, a sound.
The place, though, it had been good to me too!
How to reconcile the two?
The very, very wonderful, mixed with the hmm I wish that didn't even exist. And then in between all that, some nice-ness, some same-o same-o, some benign-ness, some predictability.
It all was there before, just like I was...but I'm not the same.
The place can't greet me the same. The place can't be what it was to me. The place has ooooooh that heavy word: baggage.
The place is a mine-field of fantastic-ness and ugh!-ness.
So, what do we do? Do we never visit it? Do we send it off to the trash bin? Crumple it up and burn it in the fire? Cut it out of our picture books? Scribble over its memory?
Oh I know I'm dramatic! But life is dramatic! And I find that wonderful!
Just like the place, I guess.
But...it's good to pace ourselves. Life has enough drama without going to look for it.
Sometimes we just happen upon it, like that someone I know, who happened upon a visit to one of their places (come on, now, no one has just ONE place!)
In the end I'm sure that person was happy to have happened upon it. Maybe not in the moment, but in the aftermath, sorting it all through, fitting pieces of their old-self with their now-self.
And then maybe came the healing habits. At least I hope so.
That's why I'm writing tonight.
Now I only go to this place when it just feels like it's been too long since I've been there.
The space in between my visits lengthens with the passing of time, and every new re-entry is met with more joyous--and more fearful--anticipation.
You know, kind of like when you leave home for the first time? At first you go back and visit a lot, try to keep in touch with everyone and everything, maintain those ties. But then, as life has pulled you off in another direction, that home doesn't feel like home anymore. And when you visit it it's like you truly are just a visitor now. Seeing it with fresh eyes. And maybe it's seeing you with fresh eyes too. Maybe you're not meant for each other anymore. Being meant for each other only worked in that other lifetime.
Of course this angle can be seen with relationships too.
Think about break-ups, divorce.
Places, though. They hold their own in emotional weight.
I think of someone I know, who recently happened upon a visit to a town they'd lived in years ago, with another partner, in another phase of life. I realized how emotional that whole visit must've been for that person. This became more clear to me when that person said they were going to stay in that place and walk around, look around, a bit longer than everyone else.
"Sure," everyone else said.
The silence and the expressions said the rest.
We knew.
Or, maybe it was just me who knew. Because I knew just what that was like.
Walk around, take it in, think the things, remember the stuff, mix and muddle it around, try to make sense of it, try to mesh the old-you with the now-you.
Sometimes all that works, but sometimes it maybe just makes you wanna "go get a drink"...or do that other thing that's your version of that.
Or maybe, if you've been reading this blog so far, you're thinking, "Well, no, it just makes me want to do my healing habit!" Well if so, good for you!
The place, though.
I went to this place recently.
I walked in to this big space. I knew I would be welcomed, and I longed for that feeling of belonging and familiarity and comfort that it had brought me many times.
But I have changed. That place changed me, and so have many, many other things.
I have changed, but places sometimes stay the same. And then there's a mis-mash.
In the midst of the joy and community and anticipation I felt there also lurked things that I don't really like to be reminded of. Things off in the corner, or behind a post, or waiting, or arriving later. Like those things that exist in our minds that we sometimes just want to push away because they bring with them a sadness, or anger, or disappointment, or disgust. They bring an, "I'd rather not think about that." An image, a memory, a smell, a sound.
The place, though, it had been good to me too!
How to reconcile the two?
The very, very wonderful, mixed with the hmm I wish that didn't even exist. And then in between all that, some nice-ness, some same-o same-o, some benign-ness, some predictability.
It all was there before, just like I was...but I'm not the same.
The place can't greet me the same. The place can't be what it was to me. The place has ooooooh that heavy word: baggage.
The place is a mine-field of fantastic-ness and ugh!-ness.
So, what do we do? Do we never visit it? Do we send it off to the trash bin? Crumple it up and burn it in the fire? Cut it out of our picture books? Scribble over its memory?
Oh I know I'm dramatic! But life is dramatic! And I find that wonderful!
Just like the place, I guess.
But...it's good to pace ourselves. Life has enough drama without going to look for it.
Sometimes we just happen upon it, like that someone I know, who happened upon a visit to one of their places (come on, now, no one has just ONE place!)
In the end I'm sure that person was happy to have happened upon it. Maybe not in the moment, but in the aftermath, sorting it all through, fitting pieces of their old-self with their now-self.
And then maybe came the healing habits. At least I hope so.
That's why I'm writing tonight.
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