After spending the first twenty-five years of my life in Indiana, I headed west after graduating from college and never looked back. Since that time I've moved from Southern California to Wyoming to New Mexico and then to Central and Northern California, living in three different towns along the base of the Sierra Nevada. Each place offered me the opportunity to see beautiful sights, have amazing new experiences and meet an array of wonderful people. To say that my flat, seemingly commonplace homeland paled in comparison was a complete understatement.
Up until very recently, I could imagine no scenario in which I would a) willingly move back to my hometown or b) find Indiana as appealing as the West. And yet, here I sit in my parents' guest bedroom in Mishawaka, Indiana, marveling at the decision I've recently made. I completely surprised myself two months ago by deciding to move back to the place where I grew up and with each passing week I find that Indiana has more to offer me than I ever could have imagined. Never underestimate the power of perspective to completely alter your life - even the parts you thought were set in stone.
Up until very recently, I could imagine no scenario in which I would a) willingly move back to my hometown or b) find Indiana as appealing as the West. And yet, here I sit in my parents' guest bedroom in Mishawaka, Indiana, marveling at the decision I've recently made. I completely surprised myself two months ago by deciding to move back to the place where I grew up and with each passing week I find that Indiana has more to offer me than I ever could have imagined. Never underestimate the power of perspective to completely alter your life - even the parts you thought were set in stone.
It all started on a cold day back in early November. My dad asked me if I wanted to go on a hike at a local state park and I took him up on the offer. As we drove through the gates of the park, I began to have flashbacks from my childhood - riding bikes down the paved trail to the general store for ice cream cones, walking the well trodden path from the campground to beach on a humid summer afternoon and hiking in the forests throughout the park.
The peak of fall color had passed, but as we hiked along the trail, I was caught off guard by the beauty of the hardwood trees. Their lithe trunks lifted high above me casting a net of branches across the pale blue sky. The crunch of ankle deep leaves filled the air. It was sunny, but a cold breeze occasionally passed through the treetops, sending a cascade of withered leaves down to the ground. I was charmed by the whole experience and found myself falling in love with a place I had dismissed as painfully ordinary so long ago.
A week or two later, I began attending services at a local Unitarian Universalist church. I had discovered this denomination while living in New Mexico and everywhere I went afterward, I knew that if I found a UU congregation I would be surrounded by people who also valued acceptance, tolerance and the responsible search for truth and meaning. I quickly felt a sense of community and discovered an opportunity to fulfill my goal of teaching workshops related to my new coaching career.
As family medical issues began to surface, I realized that rather than spending just a few months in the area, I might be living here for an undetermined amount of time. To my surprise, I was delighted by the idea! I discovered a myriad of places to rent cross-country skis and began dreaming of day trips all along the shores of Lake Michigan in the summer. I thought about fireflies and fresh vegetables. Apple picking in the fall. The sandstone grottos of Turkey Run State Park, where my great-great-grandfather's covered bridge spans the width of Sugar Creek.
And then it occurred to me that this place I had dismissed so long ago has always been this filled with wonder and beauty. I just wasn't ready to see it. I needed to get past the surface of things, the grand canyons and the rugged mountain peaks, to realize that each place is what you make of it. You'll see what you expect to find and experience what you seek. If you want to be swept up in the remote, epic beauty of a vast landscape, Indiana may not be the place for you. But when you recognize that vast and remote are also a state of mind, you can immerse yourself in that world any time you choose.
My parents have moved three times in my life, each within the same subdivision. The tracts of houses have expanded into the surrounding forests and cornfields with each new addition. Just down the street from their house, the pavement comes to an abrupt end and over a hillock of discarded soil lies a wide dirt road that cuts through one of the remaining stands of trees. They aren't large or even all that beautiful. But they're there. And when I pass beyond that boundary from the subdivision into those trees, I enter a vast and remote stretch of undeveloped land. I can feel my heart open and my lungs expand in the same way they did when I first saw the Grand Canyon or climbed a peak in the Tetons. What we see with the eyes, we judge. What we see with the heart, we feel. I know that no matter where I live, if I look with my heart, I'll feel at home.
The peak of fall color had passed, but as we hiked along the trail, I was caught off guard by the beauty of the hardwood trees. Their lithe trunks lifted high above me casting a net of branches across the pale blue sky. The crunch of ankle deep leaves filled the air. It was sunny, but a cold breeze occasionally passed through the treetops, sending a cascade of withered leaves down to the ground. I was charmed by the whole experience and found myself falling in love with a place I had dismissed as painfully ordinary so long ago.
A week or two later, I began attending services at a local Unitarian Universalist church. I had discovered this denomination while living in New Mexico and everywhere I went afterward, I knew that if I found a UU congregation I would be surrounded by people who also valued acceptance, tolerance and the responsible search for truth and meaning. I quickly felt a sense of community and discovered an opportunity to fulfill my goal of teaching workshops related to my new coaching career.
As family medical issues began to surface, I realized that rather than spending just a few months in the area, I might be living here for an undetermined amount of time. To my surprise, I was delighted by the idea! I discovered a myriad of places to rent cross-country skis and began dreaming of day trips all along the shores of Lake Michigan in the summer. I thought about fireflies and fresh vegetables. Apple picking in the fall. The sandstone grottos of Turkey Run State Park, where my great-great-grandfather's covered bridge spans the width of Sugar Creek.
And then it occurred to me that this place I had dismissed so long ago has always been this filled with wonder and beauty. I just wasn't ready to see it. I needed to get past the surface of things, the grand canyons and the rugged mountain peaks, to realize that each place is what you make of it. You'll see what you expect to find and experience what you seek. If you want to be swept up in the remote, epic beauty of a vast landscape, Indiana may not be the place for you. But when you recognize that vast and remote are also a state of mind, you can immerse yourself in that world any time you choose.
My parents have moved three times in my life, each within the same subdivision. The tracts of houses have expanded into the surrounding forests and cornfields with each new addition. Just down the street from their house, the pavement comes to an abrupt end and over a hillock of discarded soil lies a wide dirt road that cuts through one of the remaining stands of trees. They aren't large or even all that beautiful. But they're there. And when I pass beyond that boundary from the subdivision into those trees, I enter a vast and remote stretch of undeveloped land. I can feel my heart open and my lungs expand in the same way they did when I first saw the Grand Canyon or climbed a peak in the Tetons. What we see with the eyes, we judge. What we see with the heart, we feel. I know that no matter where I live, if I look with my heart, I'll feel at home.
