I was in love with a place . . . in my mind

Lately I've been listening a lot to "Chicago" by Sufjan Stevens. There are a few of his songs that seem to stick with me. I heard this one for the first time, ridiculously enough, while watching the Veronica Mars movie. Veronica was riding home with her ex-boyfriend/best friend/enemy/frenemy, Logan, driving through the city she'd grown up in, with the boy she'd once loved, 10 years from her graduation from high school. This song started playing in the background as Veronica looked out the car window and you can almost see her living in the memory.

There is a line in the song that really resonates with me. "I was in love with a place, in my mind, in my mind. I made a lot of mistakes, in my mind, in my mind." I tend to look at different experiences in my life with a rosy, nostalgic, somewhat regretful glow. So much so that for a long time, I had an odd habit.

I used to drive by the house that I consider "the house I grew up in" in Enumclaw, out in the country. Mostly I'd just drive by, but once I snuck under the fence in the field and just walked around in the woods. Such clear memories of running, playing, imagination, and freedom.

I used to go back to my academy when I was at college, the first few years after I graduated. I wouldn't go during the school day or anything, that would have been awkward. No, I went during the summers when school was out. I'd drive by and suddenly pull in. I'd walk in my old haunts and remember the good times and the not so good.

It became an even more unstoppable habit when I graduated from college. High school had been a nice memory, but college was, for me, a more profound experience. I had many important moments there, some that are incredibly clear and sharp in my memory. So for many, many years after I graduated college, I'd go and visit Walla Walla. I'd come into town to see friends, and in the midst of the visit, I'd go take a walk. My "walk through memory lane" as I called it. I would walk all throughout campus. Through the music department and the practice rooms, the stairways I'd walk as I closed up for the night. The lobby where I'd curl up reading. I'd sit on the steps outside the band room. I'd walk past Village hall, remembering seeing my name on the cast list on the door. I'd go for walks around campus, remembering one spot where a boy said he loved me, another where a boy broke my heart. I'd walk by places where I made stupid decisions and smart choices. I walked by the house that I laughed and cried in. I walked and walked and marveled at my choices. So many different things I could have done and said . . . what directions could I have gone in if I'd done one thing a little differently.

As I'd walk, I almost felt the echoes of myself. I could see her walking ahead of me, blithely stepping into situations, some good, some bad. But mostly, I allowed myself to think back on that time as "the best time", when life was full of possibilities and options. I was indeed "in love with a place in my mind" and I continued to rehash "a lot of mistakes, in my mind".

Embarrassingly enough, it was only a few years ago that I went to visit Melissa in Walla Walla and realized that I had no need to go for my "walk through memory lane". I'm not sure of the exact moment it happened, but I became very aware that it wasn't that place anymore. You can never go back to that place in your mind, the rosy place of your memories. You can never be that person again, the one who runs in dress up clothes through your old backyard, the one who walks through the hallways of your high school and greets your friends by the lockers, the one who hurries to classes and acts in her first college play. At a certain point, I've realized that those places only live in my memory, and I can never  go back simply by the act of going to the physical location. The house of my childhood may still be standing, but it isn't the same home. The academy where I went is still there, but it isn't my school. The stage of Village Hall is still creaking beneath the feet of students, but those feet will not ever be mine again.

Nostalgia is a beautiful thing. It is good to remember. But as Dumbledore once said, "It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live." Wise words from a fictional character:) Why am I sharing this odd tidbit about me? I suppose because it comforts me to imagine that some of you may also occasionally fall into the rosy glow of memory and nostalgia. And my thought to share with you is this; memories are lovely, but living is beautiful.