I visited my parent’s yesterday. There aren’t many stores where I live here, and I needed some clothes (most notably shorts). It was warm and sunny, there was just the slightest breeze, and geese were in the field. Getting ready to leave, I had all my things in order, but still felt like I was forgetting something. And it occurred to me that some things can’t be brought with you. Sunshine, windows, the smell of soil. Doves cooing, the chickens running around and clucking, the smell of wet concrete as my mom washed down the porches. I couldn’t bring any of it back with me.
I also couldn’t bring my naivete from before the first time my heart was broken, and the innocence from before one of my best friends died. Some things stay behind, no matter how hard we try to bring them with us. I know life is a process of continuing on and experiencing new things. I just wish it was easier to bring some of the old along as well.