It’s cold in Pennsylvania. On Monday, I took the red-eye. As the plane landed, I was struck by how flat and brown the landscape was. I arrived on the morning of Christmas Eve to snow and ice. I’m spending a few days with friends and family.
This time of year always feels a little deeper than other times of the year, a little quieter, a little more pensive. For me, it’s a bittersweet mix of joy with the sombre. Late December drops her river-smooth pebbles into the well of the soul, the waters ripple with gratitude, ripple with longing. These winter nights are warmed with the candles of redemption, regret, hope, and acceptance in the darkened rooms of memory.
Traveling home reminds me of other times I’ve traveled home. It reminds me of the many people who have come and gone. At this time of year, I remember everyone. I miss many of them.
Approaching a new year, I feel a fondness for what has passed, the wandering paths that have brought me to where I am. Mine is a life that wasn’t imaginable five years ago. I feel a sense of optimism for what lies ahead – the possibilities for growth and experience. Those two things, past and future, tend to mix more at this time of year – this season that is my estuary.
While home, I had dinner with a friend and his son. We talked. Mostly, I told him about life in California. This is one of the challenges of coming home. I’m the one whose life has changed – and home has mostly stayed the same. When I told my friend I was going to drive a few hours to see a different set of friends, he said it seems like I’ve embraced being more nomadic – bouncing between my different/past versions of home. He’s not wrong. In two days, I’ll be on plane heading back to a different sense of home. Coming and going never gets any easier.
Sometimes, coming home highlights the distances I’ve traveled (geographically, emotionally, spiritually). Sometimes, coming home highlights how little here is recognizable. There’s something sad about that.
As I drove around on familiar roads, I was reminded of a girlfriend who once took me to her hometown. At the time, I was impressed with how well she knew the area – driving around without GPS. I felt amazingly lost in her world and was glad to have a guide – honored that she was sharing it with me. Navigating my own home town, I’m realizing it might not have been the great feat I thought it was. I’m less impressed with the familiar knowledge I carry, the roads I know.
I think that was the locus of one longing. I missed seeing the world through someone else’s eyes. I felt bored not just with traveling alone but with my old way of seeing. Other longings seem to reside in an acute awareness of already living a good life…. Acknowledging that I’m heading into a new year possessing most of what I want shines a light on those few areas where I’d like to improve… areas where I ask, “what else would I like, what details round out this picture?” And this is the current challenge – as a pretty content person, many of my aspirations are to reclaim things I’ve already had – deep, fulfilling, fun, and inspiring connections. While talking with my friend over dinner, he was describing his latest relationship as an easy and natural connection. He described it as effortless. And that was the reminder for me of those times and people that/who seemed easy and effortless (or more accurately, those times when a future together seemed blindingly bright with possibility).
The desire to reconnect is strong this time of year – or maybe it’s strong with coming back. Even as I travel to central Pennsylvania on my short trip back east, a small part of me wishes I could see my old dog again. This time of year, I tend to revisit those things (people, places, relationships), that for one reason or another, didn’t work out, or ran their course, or didn’t come to pass. As an optimist, I look back with fondness and openness. Reconnecting with friends reminds me that reconnecting requires effort, sometimes a little courage or humility, but in the end isn’t so hard.