Homecoming

As I drove into my hometown of New Milford, CT, nearly two weeks ago (incredible how fast time passes), I started off feeling both anxious and even a bit disheartened as I swerved to avoid potholes while noticing a number of older houses in various stages of deterioration. A sense of surrealism arose as the nostalgic good had to compete with the honest reality of how things actually were today.

Upon my return to the very enviroment that had shaped me, I could only wonder how much of my past defined who I was today? After all, I returned as an entirely different person, complete with new views, experiences, and references. How would the new me feel about the hometown I paradoxically cherished while I planned my escape as fast as I humanly could after high school? And what about the warm feelings of belonging that were washing over me at the familiarity of it all? Were they authentic? Or was I grasping at some innate desire to believe that no matter where I end up in life, I would at least always have some roots here?

And as far as the imperfections I was picking up on went, would I put on the rose-colored blinders of selective memory or instead scowl at the wear of this typical New Englad town, for it not staying in better shape? Even though anyone who has read yoga 101 knows that change is inevitable, could I just once wish for some things to remain the same? And why, in that case, would I want them to?

The whole reason for my visit was to attend my 25th high school reunion, so it was only natural that thoughts of my past made themselves even more present than usual. Soon after my arrival, I started meeting the people I had known from "way back when", and from the very first hug my initial, puzzling thoughts ceased to exist.  And yes, I'll admit that one of the reasons for this trip was in the hopes of receiving the approval of my peers, a check in the old "you turned out ok" box, as though I was being put to a test. As it turned out, this was a desire from the ghost of my insecure youth, since any nervousness and worrying that there would be any awkwardness in meeting old friends and acquaintances dissolved in an instant. After three days of lunches, workouts, and reunions, I was on cloud nine.

I hadn't realized until then that we were just kids in our so-called former lives. For whatever reason I was still relying on the thoughts and ideas from the 16-year-old-me, the one who blazenly believed she had it all figured out at the same time she felt she didn't fit in anywhere. After all, 1½ lifetimes had passed since we had last been in touch (relatively speaking). And of the roles I assigned myself and others, most of them self-imposed fantasies of what I thought everyone else was thinking, only the occasional shadow remained. And honestly, even those would have probably disappeared as well if there had been enough time to really shine some light upon them.

Everyone I met at the reunion contributed equally to its joyous success. I don't recall having ever been at such a fun party, where we all felt like equals. As nice as reminiscing along Memory Lane might be, nothing goes up against the amazing pleasure of loving everything and everyone in the shared present moment.