Remembering Who You are Before it’s Too Late

Resurrecting the parts of yourself you have forgotten

I’m out with lanterns looking for myself. -Emily Dickinson

Coming home. No words are more beautiful.

I have been searching for home for 50 years. Last year I found it in the mountains of North Carolina. I am finally home. For the first time since I was a child I have a sense of belonging to a place.

But now it is time for a different kind of homecoming. It’s time for me to allow the parts of myself I have abandoned to come home. These are the parts that have been pushed aside, hidden, or completely forgotten. These parts are the authentic parts that are needed in order for me to be whole.

Why do we abandon parts of ourselves? Sometimes others tell us our dreams are foolish and out of reach. Once, when I was 16, I went to a Jaguar dealer and convinced the salesman to let me drive the 1979 XJ6. It was my dream car. When I got home and told my father what I had done, he laughed at me, mocking me. He said I would never own a Jaguar and it was ridiculous for me to think I could.

As life went on, there were other dreams I had that were not supported or were cruelly snatched away by those who wanted me to keep my feet on the ground. They wanted me to remember who I was. The thing is, I didn’t need to remember back then. I knew who I was. It was others who needed to be reminded.

Now I want to remember all the parts of me that have been subjugated to life’s circumstances and the opinions of others. Those parts of me that I gave up on long ago, but now deserve a chance to come alive again.

At 62, I am not ready to smack the dust off my hands and say, “Well, it’s been good, but that ship has sailed.” It would be easy to settle into my new home, counting my blessings every day and letting those parts of me stay in the past. I could let my life comfortably sail along, drifting in a pleasant but purposeless way. But that is not what I want. Not yet anyway. Maybe never.

I read Jean Anne Feldeisen’s piece about dedicating the next ten years of her life to learning a difficult piece of music on the piano. Jean Anne is 75. She is not wasting her time worrying about the years lost at her piano, even though that stings. She is forging ahead into the task she has set before herself with enthusiasm and confidence. It is a task that is sure to bring her joy and satisfaction. I think “exhilarating” was the word she used.

Jean Anne has remembered who she is.

She is a woman who loves to play music. And who loves to challenge herself to learn difficult music. And despite the fact there was a large gap in time where she was not playing, she has picked it back up and has played every day since 2016. Jean Anne inspires me to look at my life and decide what’s next.

I could easily spend the rest of my life here on the side of this mountain, listening to the creek, watching the seasons change, marveling at the little wildflowers that are so prolific in the spring. I could read all the books on my shelves I have not read. I could go to lunch with friends, knit at the yarn shop with the knitting group, bake bread. I could host family and friends around my table, and spend time with my grandchildren.

These things in themselves would make a good life. They do make a good life. But in trying to remember who I really am, I have to dig deep to see the parts of me I have left on the side of the road at some point. In order to live a more authentic life I need to turn around and go get them. They need to come home.

It will take some time to make my way back to those parts. They have become deeply buried out of a need for self-protection. But I had a brief glimpse a couple of years ago when the 15-year- old part of myself showed up in an amazing way and reminded me that I wanted to learn to speak French fluently. I honored her by starting a French course. But then life happened and I was totally derailed.

Now, life is back on track and I am ready to allow that part of me to dream again. One day I may find myself in France and will be so glad I put in the effort, honoring the part of me who is still alive and well. But even if I never make it to France, just the satisfaction of learning a language well will be enough. That 15-year-old self was powerful. I want to channel that.

Which brings me to another part of myself that has been abandoned and recently resurfaced. The part that wants to travel to Europe.

I have barely left the US in all my 62 years, save for a cruise to the Bahamas and a couple of trips to Mexico. My life just didn’t happen in a way to enable this dream to become a reality. I resigned myself to thinking that travel was for other people, not for me (just like that Jaguar.) I have spent a lot of time grieving over this, and trying to convince myself I didn’t really want to do it anyway. But it’s not true.

I am ready to dust off that dream and look at it more closely. Where did that dream originate? Why is it important? Is it too late to make it come true? If I could only visit one European country, which would it be?

You might think I’ll say France, since I am committing to learning the language. But that’s not the answer that comes. My heart is in England. My ancestry is English, and I have always felt drawn like a magnet to Shakespeare’s “this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.” Not to the kings and queens, but to the countryside.

I must have ancestors who were farmers in the Dales, or maybe the Lake District. Or maybe I lived a previous life there. Who knows? But the pull is strong, and it must be listened to.

I indulge that part of myself that longs for England by reading books by English writers, and studying English gardens, drinking loads of tea, and watching British TV. But is it enough? I try to tell myself it is, but somehow it doesn’t feel like it. Yet, I have resigned myself to thinking I will never make it across the pond to stand on English soil, to walk in the Yorkshire Dales and the Lake District, to hear the lovely, lilting speech of the English people everywhere I go.

And yet. And yet.

Jean Anne has given me hope. Why can’t I go? I am not too old to travel yet. I can still walk several miles a day. The air travel gives me pause — so maybe a drift on the Queen Mary? Where is the person telling me I can’t do it? My father is gone. Looking around, I don’t see anyone but myself.

This part of me deserves to be honored if at all possible. But honestly I have long thought it was impossible. There’s that voice in my head telling me I’m overreaching. There are so many obstacles (ok, most of them of my own making.) There’s the cost, the time, the fact that I am not a savvy traveler. There’s the fact that my husband doesn’t really want to go. There’s the fact I am not a savvy traveler. (I know I already said that, but that’s a big one.) It makes me anxious just to think about the logistics of it all.

And yet. All of these obstacles can be overcome. I still want to go.

For the first time in a long time, I am allowing myself to dream. I am remembering that part of myself who has longed for this trip for so long. Until now it has been the longing of one who has no hope of their dream coming true. But it can come true. I will find myself in England, the land of my ancestors.

It is so easy to forget who we are. To forget what tuly matters to us, and to tuck our dreams away as though they are unimportant, unachievable, or have an expiration date. Jean Anne has reminded me that nothing could be further from the truth.

I wonder what other parts of myself I will find when I start paying attention? I think as I honor these two, others will show up asking to be honored, too.

Remember who you are. Honor those selves you’ve abandoned. It’s not too late.

Big thanks to Jean Anne Feldeisen for showing the way. ♥