…And if we are all adrift, how do we find our way? How do we navigate our way to home, or something like it?
Maybe we need beacons – little shining points of light, showing us the path, guiding us to ourselves. Fixed points on a changing horizon, the memories, stories, people, places, smells, textures, tastes, that tell us what’s known. What’s us. And maybe my beacons aren’t the same as yours. Some of my beacons: the smell of rain on summer asphalt; green growth bursting through city grey; the shine in my wife’s eyes when she smiles as we meet at the train station after work; the intricate play of light and dark on a cloud filled afternoon; standing still as a shadow as the work of the city goes on around me. These are some of the beacons from my new home; the older beacons are further away, more challenging to recall from the distances of time and memory and story.
Because not all of our beacons make the journey with us, of course. Some stay behind, truly fixed points, and with that the risk that when (if) we return, we’ll find them just as they were, while we’re no longer who and how we were then. Our stories shift, our pasts realign, and what we thought was home just turns out to be another ripple, pushing us forward, pushing us away to who knows where…