the permanence of impermanence
02/24/2019
I’ve been back in Champaign for one month now. It’s a strange thing being back. I’ve done this before, left for a while and then returned for a stretch of time longer than a week’s visit, and I always have this odd feeling of disconnect from the place I grew up. Usually, though, it also comes with feelings of nostalgia. Perhaps I wasn’t gone long enough this time, but those nostalgic feelings are missing. Don’t get me wrong, there are certainly elements of Champaign that I find I am really happy to take advantage of again now that I am here. Like shopping at the food co-op. I really missed my co-op when I was on the road. I found others, in sometimes surprising places, but the one in CU is exceptional. I have yet to see another one with the selection here, especially with the vegan options in the bakery and deli. So, I will miss that again when I leave. And, along with that, I will miss the ease with which I could get my favorite vegan burger, not at the co-op, incidentally. It’s been great to reconnect with a few people here, as well. Most especially my former students. That was pure joy. But on the whole, I find my nostalgia is for the road, my longing is to be back out there again.
Oh, to be back out there again. When I made the decision to return to Champaign for a few months, it was not without some fear and trepidation. I was afraid of getting stuck here. It is nothing against Champaign. It’s a great little town in so many ways. It is more about my own soul and where my passions reside. It was something to overcome the idea that coming back here did not mean I had to stay here. That I could pick up again when my designated time was up. That my home sits out in the driveway of my parents’ house right now, and, in April, I can point it where I want it to take me. Which is, oddly enough for me, the desert.
The desert. In earlier posts from my travels, I spoke of my newfound love of the desert southwest, especially in fall. I soaked in the contrasts of red, yellow, and green. My eyes were drawn to the ruggedness of the landscape against a backdrop of big, blue skies. Yet, when we made the decision to go to Oregon, I could not wait to see the lushness of the rainforest and the wildness of the ocean. It was time for that change of scenery. The wildness of coastal Oregon is a different beast from the wildness of southern Utah. Both are amazing. Both stir the spirit. I look forward to going to the coast of Oregon again, just not in the rainy season. But now, the desert is, once again, beckoning. I am ready for warmer temperatures. Yes, this girl who would have never, ever spoken those words in the past is now saying them. I was always a cold-weather person, preferring winter and fall over spring and summer. Life on the road has changed me, even in just six months. Now, sitting in February in Illinois, I dream of the warmth of the spring sun on the rocky mountains of New Mexico. Things can always change. People can always change. Even at nearly 50, I have changed.
50. Half a century. A long time to live through the eyes of a child. I can remember when I thought 50 was old. Now, I am reflecting on that timeless observation that even at 50, I feel I’ve only been here for the blink of an eye. And while I’ve changed, inside, I feel in many ways like the same girl I was as a teenager, or younger even. Some of the same insecurities and vulnerabilities still arise in me regarding my place in the cosmos and my relationships with those around me and with myself. Some passions and dreams have changed, while others have remained constant. My perspectives and ideas have certainly shifted, formed, dissolved, and reformed a thousand times over the course of my lifetime. I’m sure there is more of that to come. I count on it. In terms of Earth time and Universe time, 50 years traipsing around on this planet doesn’t even count as a blink of an eye.
In the blink of an eye. That is how quickly things can change. I was reminded of this a few days ago. I have largely been absent on Instagram since coming back to Champaign, only touching base there briefly and occasionally. One evening, I was doing just this when I came across a post that revealed the passing of an old friend. It was a shock to make this discovery through an Instagram connection who I did not even realize was friends with this particular friend. I am not on facebook much at all, so I had missed the news there. This friend was a person who embodied joy, with a laugh that was infectious and light and from her heart. We lost regular touch over the years, but at some point, got reconnected over facebook. We had lunch not too long ago. At least it feels like it was not too long ago. Last year, I think. We caught up over all the years’ events. She talked about her stage four breast cancer and how, when nothing else had worked, she had changed her diet and had been declared cancer-free. I had thought just a week or so ago that I should contact her while I was in town to make that trip out to the farm to visit and to meet her family. So, this news of her passing was a surprise. And it got me thinking.
It got me thinking about how things always change. We never know exactly how, and we never know exactly when. The only thing in this world that is permanent is impermanence. The one thing we do know is that we are only ever guaranteed the moment we are currently in. We westerners have such a tough relationship with death, on the whole. But we are all going to get there. It’s inevitable. While hearing the news of my friend’s passing was surreal and difficult, it also made me think about how lovely it was that she had the extra time that she did with her family. Death has something to teach us about life, if we let it. What would we do differently if we knew that today was our last day on Earth? How might our lives change if we lived each moment as if it were our last? Each and every moment is unique. You will never get that slice of time back. Even the hard moments. They pass too. There is beauty in this truth. There is also freedom. So, what if we were grateful for each moment we have? What if we were present for each moment we exist? How would that change our perspectives and our relationships with one another and with ourselves?
How would it change you?
Peace.
Desserae
