Backward and Forward

Today in the midst of packing I ran across two of my old journals. Reading journals (especially old ones) is an experience in which embarrassment and a kind of crude fascination coexist in surprising harmony. Mostly though, what I felt was a deep sympathy with my old self. After all--I was there. I know what she felt, for pity's sake! (Even if she seems just a little bit melodramatic now...)

However, I'm not going to discuss that.

What I am going to discuss is my rediscovery of a moment I had almost exactly four years ago when I visited the Boston area for the very first time. I had gone out to see my aunt and uncle who live in Franklin, a ways south (and a little west, I believe) of Boston itself.

Here's what I wrote on May 31, 2003:

"Before I go to bed I also wanted to mention something that happened the first night I was here. We were coming back from the airport and everything was dark. Trees hulked along the sides of the road, darkly obscuring the distance. I loved it. We got off the freeway and started going past some houses. I was suddenly overcome with the emotion that I belonged here--that this was my kind of place. I wonder if this area holds at least part of my future in it."

Sitting surrounded by this:


And also this:


I was suddenly struck with how the past and future are intersecting right now (not to mention how messy and chaotic that intersection is) as I stand poised between this life which has felt so stagnant to me and this new life that seems rather frightening and yet, oddly, so much the right thing to do.

It's also good to know I'm making a move now that I already felt was right nearly four years ago.