Going home

“Who says, ‘you can’t go home’?”

— Jon Bon Jovi

The email arrived from someone I did not know. It turned out he was the chaplain of my high school and was interested in me coming and speaking to the students at one of the morning meetings. Honored, I accepted and then tried to think of something to say. To the students, having an alumnus come speak is no big deal, but to the alumnus it is as exciting as it was intimidating.

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It’s been 35 years since I attended the school and much has happened, to the school and to me. Trying to bridge the gap between what was and what is took much time and reflection, but, in the end, I decided to speak from the very core of my being. I refused to put on a show, appear more than I am, and that meant taking a deep breath and being completely honest and vulnerable.

I arrived early and wandered the once familiar halls. Like me, the place looked different but was also the same as it was 35 years ago. I decided to speak to the only student I’ve ever known, me, and so in the presence of the current students I had a conversation with me when I was a student. In the conversation I spoke of the things I wish I had known years ago.

I have no idea what my words said to those in attendance, but for me it was a powerful and cathartic experience. As I drove away, I realized I had just experienced a homecoming of sorts. On the surface, one might say I returned to the home that was once my school, but I know the homecoming was deeper than that. I returned to the person I was and am, stood comfortably in my skin as if for the first time, and it was wonderful to return home.

Chasing Fireflies

The summer night was something from a Rockwell painting, with freckled children with cut-offs and bare feet chasing fireflies until called in for the night. A punctured cap in one hand and jar in the other, the ageless chase commenced.

Swirling in the night, appearing for an instant as if to say “catch me if you can,” the illusive prey mocked until encased in glass. The celebration dimed along with the light, and the top was removed, firefly set free, and chase commenced again.

The light shines brighter in open air.

So it is with other forms of light. Friendship, love, divine inspiration, and our true selves . . . they relentlessly swirl before us, taunting us and saying “catch us if you can.” Children of all ages chase such fireflies with arms and hands outstretched and hearts hoping to catch the light.

Just as in the summer nights long ago, the joy dims along with the light when captured or encased. Better to release the light, where it burns brighter, and others can join the sacred dance.

A beginner's mind

Not long ago, I took my daughter into my studio to paint. She has a creative soul and innate talent, but more important than either of those, she has a beginner’s mind.

As we began, I found myself instructing more than painting along side. “Put your paints on the palette like this.” “To get this color, you need to mix this with that.” “Never put this color next to that one the canvas.”

She listened respectfully to her father, then mixed the colors the way she wanted, put whatever colors she wanted next to each other, and used her fingers and anything else she could find to get the paint to look the way she wanted. In the end, she showed me the freedom and spontaneity that once drew me to art.

I have since tried to reclaim a beginner’s mind in art and other aspects of my life. Unfortunately, time adds layers upon layers to the way we do things, and it’s difficult to peal them away and reclaim the wide-eyed enthusiastic, fearless approach to living we had when we first did something.

If you doubt this, honestly ask the last time you tried something new? When was the last time you didn’t rely on how you'd done things before?

When was the last time you did something without thought for what others would think? When did you try something at work or at home that you have never tried before? When did you drive home a different way, drink tea instead of coffee, or walk barefoot in a field with a friend instead of meet for lunch or a round of golf? When, like the picture above, did you hold a friend close and put iceing on your nose?

When was the last time you sat across from your spouse and talked as if you were dating? When was the last time you resisted topics like the kids, the bank account, or the roof in need repair, and asked about his or her greatest memories, favorite song or movie, or deepest pain or fear?

When was the last time you attended church (or synagogue or mosque) and listened with a beginner’s mind? When did you last read a parable or psalm as if you’d never heard it before? When did you speak to God with the honesty of a child? You know, like “God thanks for the salamander that’s sitting on that rock.” “God, I scraped my knee and it hurts.” “God, my best friend in the world (this week) went to the movies with someone else and I’m really sad.” “God, I don’t understand why my dog died.”

Finding the beginner’s mind takes effort, using it takes courage, but it is where true life, and our true selves, are found.