A Portable Presence

As I was approaching 60, I wanted to do something memorable to mark my six decades on the planet.  I was grateful I had “made pilgrimage” to some timeless places in the world — Jerusalem, Galilee, Buddhist and Hindu sites in India, the Guadalupe shrine in Mexico City, Ellis Island, Wrigley Field in Chicago and Fenway Park in Boston — and thought about where else I could go.   But my work at the time did not allow for ambitious trips abroad.  I decided to turn inward and identify six places in Southern California that had been important in my life that were within a day’s drive.  My plan was to go to each spot, reflect on what I had experienced there and what it meant to me in the present.  Here are the places I visited:

• My childhood home in San Bernardino: the house had burned down, and a new house had been built on the lot.  I drove to the street and parked. Childhood memories came back, but all the families we’d known were gone.  I felt nothing.
• The high school I attended: I drove by slowly; it was summer and not in session and the buildings felt lifeless.
• The beach in San Clemente where our family spent many summers: the shoreline had shifted somewhat; the horizon, ocean and breaking waves were familiar. I was grateful for the joys we shared there, but also aware those times were long past.
• The apartment in Isla Vista where I had lived in my junior year in college: I sat on a bench across the street thinking about how I had let myself become deeply isolated and self-absorbed that year.  I remembered how lost I had been.
• The chapel in San Diego where my spiritual journey had taken root: I parked at the curb, went up the stairs and found the door was locked.  I went to the church office and explained to the church secretary why I had come.  She let me in and left me.  I looked around, breathed the air, summoned some faint memories but nothing else came to me.
• The Goleta church that had brought us back to California: I parked in the lot and walked around the buildings.  I was grateful for all we had experienced there, but also aware that my life had moved on as had that of many people.

I had hoped that going to those places would give me some exciting new insights into my life, but that was not the case. 

Some months later I decided to trade in my Prius for a Honda CRV.  On the day of the transaction, I cleaned out my personal items from the Prius and drove it to the dealer.  A salesperson inspected it and gave me the keys to the new car in exchange for the Prius keys.  I started to walk away, then stopped to look back at the older car.  It had served me well for five years, but now I was leaving it behind and it seemed like an empty shell.  I wondered, “Is this what it’s like when our spirit leaves our body?”

Maybe we look for our personal presence in particular places, but it’s not there; it’s always with us, it’s who we are.

Lead image: Pacific Coast at San Clemente; sanclementeshoreEDIT.webp