Bringing Myself with Me
Fresh-faced, in the year of our Lord 2005.
I keep returning to old places, trying to find pieces of myself there. I liked myself back then, back when I thought I knew the world and the world could know me. It turns out it’s a little more nuanced than that, and different people see different sides. I’m not as “front-on” as I thought I was. And so I keep going back, trying to find myself again.
But alas, I’ve changed and so has the place I left. The pieces, if I do manage to find them, are mismatched and don’t feel as familiar as I would have hoped. So I move forward with this mismatched collection, hoping that as I move around the pieces will jiggle into place. Sometimes they do.
It feels like the new places seem to have more room for the new me. The new library that was built while I was in Europe feels more me than the familiarity of the city library. Trying to fit my new self into that old library fits a little wonky sometimes. It’s the same feeling I get when I attempt to pull on an old pair of pants and try and get them past my newly developed thighs. Not a good time on a random Wednesday morning, let me tell you.
It’s also in the slow, winding walk along the river, which has replaced the way I used to wander through this city. Perhaps it’s the way the river reminds me of Budapest, holding two pieces of me while this city holds only one. I always used to see rivers as inconvenient, the way they split the cities and force us towards the bridges. But in Budapest the river was the sign of nature and life, and it pulled people towards it, the same way I’m now drawn to it back here.
“I’m slowly realising I don’t have to go and find pieces of myself. I was never missing, only misplaced perhaps. I bring myself to the spaces, and I’ve changed.”
I’m so tired of being new and old at the same time, but I guess it’s better than disappearing and losing my way. Although I’ve done that a few times too, and it’s not so bad.
I guess what I’m finally coming around to say, is that I’m slowly realising I don’t have to go and find pieces of myself. I was never missing, only misplaced perhaps. I bring myself to the spaces, and I’ve changed.
It’s sad sometimes, though. There can be a disconnect when I see old friends and realise how much I’ve changed. There’s no fun way to figure this out, by the way. Sometimes it happens from afar, through social media, when you realise that the things that matter to them don’t matter to you in quite the same way anymore. But sometimes it’s a painful case of meeting up and realising that it’s not as smooth as it used to be and that you’re in the process of losing this one. But it’s ok.
The good friends, the ones who remain, will be the ones who have changed too. We stumble through the reacquainting, trying to take in all the new wrinkles without staring too intently at the wrong places on a friend’s face. We move quickly into the deep things where we’ll sit for a while. We’ll share a coffee, laugh, and remind each other of who we are. Probably on a Wednesday morning at the new library with our comfy pants on.
Hoping to find God in both the city and the riverside. Enjoying the new library and sneaking into the old one sometimes.
