“I will find new meaning in every joy and sorrow,
in that silence, I will hear the voice of spirit, and
freed from this world, I will see another world
where the end is another beginning.”
I don’t recall exactly when the feeling started – a malaise, almost. A feeling of discontent, disquiet, awkwardness, boredom. I don’t know when it started, as insidious as it was, but I do know it came to a head on that late April day … as I trudged out to the car on yet another cold, gray day, snow swirling, wind battering the naked trees, branches swaying in the reflection on my windows. I hurriedly tried to button my winter coat, fumbling in gloved hands and shivering as I got in the car – quickly shutting the door against the bitter wind … I was tired of it. On October 1st, or thereabouts, of the previous year, the sun had abandoned us – running away to some other galaxy, never to return. Or so it seemed. It was gone, done, over and out. And so was I.
But it was more than just the weather. A year ago, after my two-year, 26,000 mile journey meandering across this country, I’d returned to New York … to the place many generations of my ancestors had called home. To the lands they’d farmed and fished after their own adventure crossing the Atlantic on the Mayflower, as well as the dozens of others who came on the ships and planes that followed for 200 years. To the place I, myself, had called home for 15 years. But something happened somewhere along those 26,000 miles I drove … I was no longer the same person I was when I left. I’d been raised in a very artistic, open-minded and liberal environment – and grew to be the same as an adult – yet the myriad of cultures, vistas and people had broadened and expanded my horizons even further … far more than I ever anticipated. Two years of complete freedom to be who I was, without constraint of career or regional expectations, allowed me to grow in surprising ways. I was quite a different woman than I was on that day in June 2015 when I pulled out of my driveway … leaving friends, work and a home behind in the rural lands of Upstate NY. Yes, it was more than just the weather. I was coming to realize that I no longer “fit” in the place where I once thought I would stay forever … where I’d surmised was to be my final stop on ‘The Ride’.
It was a disconcerting revelation. Heartbreaking, in many ways. Dozens of generations had lived and died here; and fifteen years prior, I’d moved from the cities of Pennsylvania just to be among the ghosts of those ancestors. It – these lakes and farms – was in my blood. And indeed it was, but all these generations later, I guess you could say the blood was thin, and all was not – I was not – as once was, so long ago.
That evening, I stopped by the cemetery where my Grandmother lays. As I knelt at her gravestone, I quietly whispered to her of my unhappiness and how I felt guilty; after all, I’d come home just a year ago. I’d come back for the simple way. For the Amish and Mennonites, for the farmers and homemakers and teachers, for the hunters and mechanics. For the apple orchards and vineyards. I had come back to the place where I long ago promised I would return to stay. And now I wanted to leave. As I stood there, I closed my eyes and felt her warm gentle presence surround me, much as I did when she would hold me on her lap as a child.
“It was never your home,” she said. “It was mine. I loved it, and it was perfect for me. But it never was yours.”
I felt her smile. Where the end is yet another beginning. And at that moment I knew that I, too – like my ancestors who crossed the sea and began a life in an unknown and strange new continent – was about to set out to explore faraway places and discover a new land to call home. My home.