For those of you just tuning in, we are taking a little break from our regularly scheduled program ( a chronology of highlights in my Dharma practice) as I move and settle into a new home. So for a few weeks, you will be getting real-time reflections. A blow-by-blow of my life and my practice as I adjust to my new home. Last week I talked about my disappointment in my new home in New York. This week, I want to talk about the flip-side…

I wish I could just go back to my old home, to San Francisco

I keep catching myself whispering the secret-not-so-secret mantra, “I wish I could just go home to San Francisco.”  I miss my friends, my house, my routines, I miss my old life and I want it back.  But spoiler alert, its not possible, there is no going back. After-all, what would going back really look like? My husband’s job is here now, am I going to go back without him? Or go back with both of us unemployed? In either case, is it really going back to the life I had before? My house is sold, my car sold, my position at my old job filled, none of those are there for me to go back to. And even my friends, after these few weeks, do they still have our weekly yoga time held on their calendar, that Thursday lunch spot free? All I remember San Francisco to be, its moment had come and gone, arisen and ceased, no mantra can wish away the impermanence.

But me, I am in constant denial. I am always trying to repeat the past, recreate those ‘perfect’ moments, make my memories manifest again. I once ate the best pizza in the world and kept going back to the same restaurant again and again hoping to recreate it, but each time it was worse than the first. Burberry had the perfect coat one season, each season after I kept going back, hoping to find one like it, but the cuts, they changed.  I wore that outfit one time and it was adorable, but I put it on again and I was too fat/too pale/ it was too cold/inappropriate for the occasion/ out of season/out of style.

And when I am in the moment, enjoying something, a little part of my mind is scheming, saying, “how can I get this again?” If I  come back to this hotel, can I get the same room? If I come back to this restaurant, can I get the same dessert? Can I buy extra cans of this tomato so I have more later? Can I buy extra ‘back-up’ versions of the same purse, so when the original is beaten-up I still have another one left?

I try so hard, put in so much effort, and then suffer so much disappointment because its always a fail. I can never quite seem to get back the past. Still I try. Still I hope. And that trying, hoping, grasping,  it moves me, drives me, pushes me forward. But it can’t ever return me to where I have been.