You know when you say "This is the last time I am ever...", insert whatever you'd like, I am certain we have all done this at times when we can't wait for something to be over or to leave some place we do not want to be. Life is funny this way, you never know when you'll be back. Seven years ago exactly I said it was the last time I ever had to drive to the town of South Bend, IN, for a fencing tournament. The last time I ever had to spend a day in that freezing gym, the last time I would ever be at Notre Dame. I remember that particular weekend very well because it was a time of transitions in my life. I was finishing college, it was my last year as a competitive fencer, applying to grad school, moving to a new city. I knew I wanted to go to New York, and earlier that week I had found out that I had gotten accepted to Cornell. I was ecstatic. I didn't care one bit how badly I fenced that weekend. I remember telling people that I was moving to New York soon. I was going to get a PhD, I had all these grand plans. Who said that life happens when you're making plans? John Lennon, I think. Yes, I was making big plans, I was excited, I felt like life was finally happening. And, I also felt like I was finally leaving something behind. The days in the freezing gyms, the nervous anticipation before competitions, the life of a college student. I was ready to get out, move on, life this life I thought would be so much bigger and better. Perhaps not coincidentally, I reconnected with an old acquaintance that weekend in that freezing gym, someone I had met years before but never kept in touch with. I would end up falling in love with him; now that I look back to it, I can see that it was very real yet so naive. Our romance was doomed for failure from the start, partly due to my moving to New York, but probably - and most likely - would have been anyway.
Fast forward to the present day. Friday afternoon, my plane touched down at the tiny airport of South Bend, IN. Many things have changed: the gym is no longer freezing, I stayed in a more comfortable hotel, the nervous anticipation of the competition no longer comes from competing, but from having to judge those who compete. The people are mostly the same, which is why I go to these tournaments. I am unwilling to cut my ties with the people who were such a big part of my life for so long, and still are in many ways. What has really changed since 2005? I am older - maybe a little wiser - have a PhD now, only to be changing paths again, moving on again, this time not even being sure where to go. I am no wiser about love either. And strangely enough, when I was walking out of the same gym I couldn't wait to leave 7 years ago for good, this time I was fighting back tears because the possibility of not seeing those people and not being back ever again was absolutely heart wrenching.
What does this mean? I am not sure, but I feel like I should learn some big lesson from experiences such as this one. Maybe the lesson is that even when we look ahead and make plans (and can't wait to be done with what we are doing now, how many more days do I have as a postdoc left??) we should not be so quick to leave things behind. Why the hurry? Why does everything have to be so final? Can we keep some of the things from what seems like a past life with us? At least in our hearts, I hope we can. I read a beautiful sentence today about what it's like to miss someone, from Stephen King. "She simply lived with his face in her heart all of the time, a kind of sweet, hurtful ache."
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