Travel and Individuation

Travel and Individuation

I wrote this post for the Jung Society of Utah blog, based on a longer piece I authored here.

“We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”

T.S. Eliot

When I return home from traveling, my house always looks different. Intellectually I know that everything is just as I left it, but after being away, the most familiar place in the world to me seems “off” in some way, not how I remembered it. Maybe the shade of paint in the bedroom looks brighter somehow, I think. Or perhaps it’s the way the light from the kitchen window filters in across the table at this hour of day, a time when I’m not usually home. But as I roll my suitcase down the hallway, there’s an overwhelming feeling of alien unfamiliarity. Then I realize it’s me. I’m the element that’s been transformed during my time away.

Carl Jung traveled extensively, and used his experiences to gain greater insight into his own life. “I understand England only when I see where I, as a Swiss, do not fit in,” he wrote. “Through my acquaintance with many Americans and my trips to and in America, I have obtained an enormous amount of insight into the European character; it has always seemed to me there can be nothing more useful for a European than some time or another to look out at Europe from the top of a skyscraper” (Memories, Dreams, Reflections, p.247).

Similarly, traveling has allowed me to meet a variety of fascinating people from diverse cultures and backgrounds. In conversation with each of these strangers, some of whom became my friends, I’ve enjoyed listening to and learning from their unique perspectives. I’ve also discovered shared interests, dreams, and goals, or common values. This has highlighted to me that we’re all very much the same at a fundamental level. All of the friends I’ve made in my travels have helped me become a more authentic version of myself in some way.

Travel has made me more honest and real. (Photo taken at a toy store in Florence, Italy).

In seeing more of the world through travel, I have also been able to step outside of my comfort zone and learn to enjoy new experiences and new people, despite my natural introversion. Successfully extending myself beyond the familiar has allowed me to feel at home even in places that seemed very different than what I’m used to. Through experiencing my adaptability in a way that I hadn’t before, I gained confidence, which has allowed me to feel safe and secure, even in troubling situations. This gave me even greater confidence and trust in myself, as I realized that I’ll always be able to navigate any situation I’m presented with.

To me, that’s what feeling at “home” is really about—being able to trust and have faith in myself and my capabilities regardless of the circumstances. If I have enough trust and faith in myself to confidently face and be present with whatever is happening right now, anywhere can feel like home.

Travel in the outer world may also guide one to inner exploration and greater wholeness.

I used to prefer thinking that it was possible to have all the answers, but travel has opened my mind to life’s mysteries. The more I experience of the world, the more I realize how much I don’t know. This is exciting because I love to learn new things—it’s become a huge part of what makes life interesting and worthwhile for me. I find peace in knowing that there will always be more to learn.

In the darkness and shadow of mystery, there is power and magic. During my time in Egypt I took a cruise down the Nile. One evening, just before sunset, the ship’s crew turned off the engines, lights, and music, and we all gathered on the top deck and waited. At dusk, the hazy gray sky burned yellow and orange as the sun sank into the glistening silver river. Away from any city lights, the palm trees and desert sand dissolved into the eerie blackness of 5,000 years ago, and it was almost as if I could feel the presence of Isis and Osiris, watching us from the riverbank. All was still and silent, but only for a few minutes. The deck lights came back on and the party resumed. Through enjoying the contrast of light and dark, knowledge and mystery, I’ve gained a greater appreciation for all the subtle forms of beauty and wonder in the world, which has heightened my creativity and intuition.

Sunset along the Nile.

Overall, travel can greatly contribute to individuation. In an article for The Guardian, journalist Jonah Lehrer writes, “We travel because we need to, because distance and difference are the secret tonic of creativity. When we get home, home is still the same. But something in our mind has been changed, and that changes everything.” I have always found that to be true.

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Individuation and the Unlived Life of the Parents

Individuation and the Unlived Life of the Parents

I wrote the following post for the Jung Society of Utah blog.

“Nothing has a stronger influence psychologically on their environment and especially on their children than the unlived life of the parent.”
– C.G. Jung

My dad has always existed for me in the space between “here” and “gone.” He was always around, but only rarely has he been truly present in my life. In recent months this has been literalized as his health has taken a turn for the worst. He’s now in a nursing care facility, spending his most of his days apparently drifting in and out, only occasionally conscious or coherent, no longer who he was.

He graduated from Brigham Young University with a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology, then worked for the State of Utah for 30 years. It was always clear how much he hated his job. He was miserable and bored, and my mom, my sister, and I seemed to exist only in the shadows of his suffering. When he retired, his health started deteriorating steadily. I feel it has to do with the shadows of unlived potential manifesting as illness.

“The participation mystique, or primitive identity, causes the child to feel the conflicts of the parents and to suffer from them as if they were its own.” – C.G. Jung

I don’t know what my dad wanted to do with his psychology degree, but it occurred to me recently that he could have been an effective therapist. Seven years ago I was on a flight from Cairo to New York City that hit very bad weather. After circling the JFK airport for a tense and miserable hour, the flight was diverted to Dulles. In the midst of a panic attack (though I didn’t realize it at the time), I called my parents’ house and my dad answered. He listened to my story about the hellish flight, being trapped on the plane at Dulles for two hours before being allowed to leave and go through customs, and my fear of having to spend the night alone in the airport. He then told me to breathe, assured me that the airline was required by law to find me a flight back to Salt Lake City, and addressed my other concerns enough that I could function and get through the night. To this day, I’m still grateful for that.

“Nothing influences children more than the silent facts in the background.” – C.G. Jung

All of this played on my mind as I interviewed for the Counseling Psychology program at Pacifica Graduate Institute. On the plane back to Salt Lake City, I read the following in Robert A. Johnson’s book, Owning Your Own Shadow:

“My own father took refuge in invalidism and lived very little of his potential. As a result of this, I feel I have two lives to cope with—my own and the unlived life of my father. This is a severe burden, but it can have creative dimensions if I take on this task consciously. Such things are possible only when we are old and mature enough to know what we are doing—though we do not usually have this kind of wisdom until we reach middle age” (p.35-36).

While I don’t qualify as middle-aged quite yet, my dad is 66, still relatively young in a time and place where people can live to their 90s and beyond. I wonder now what he could still do if circumstances were different. What might he have done earlier in life that would have brought him more joy and meaning? And through my career change, am I indeed taking on my dad’s unlived potential? Does it truly matter?

I don’t have any answers, and at this point, all I can do is focus on finding joy and meaning in my own life. In doing so, I intend to fulfill my own promise and honor myself by living my life to the fullest expression of my authenticity and potential. I want to ensure that no one, especially not me, ever ends up abandoned in my shadows.

“Parental influence only becomes a moral problem in face of conditions which might have been changed by the parents, but were not.” – C.G. Jung

Regardless of whether we have children, perhaps the greatest gift we can give ourselves and those around us is to seek that which truly helps us feel happy, fulfilled and whole, bravely walking the path that leads us to the highest expression of our true selves.

Theresa Holleran on The Shadow Dance of the Feminine and Masculine

Theresa Holleran on The Shadow Dance of the Feminine and Masculine

It was lovely to interview Theresa Holleran about this topic for the Jung Society of Utah blog.

When Theresa Holleran was in her early thirties, she read the Pregnant Virgin: A Process of Psychological Transformation, and discovered the work of Jungian Analyst, Marion Woodman. Her dream world and creativity was profoundly enlivened with new images and inspirations. In her twenties she had been an activist in the Women’s Movement, and had awakened to the possibility of living her own free life, despite the gender conditioning she received from the nuns during her Catholic education. But she knew intuitively there was something more to this path of authenticity. Marion’s work illuminated the “Sacred Inner Marriage”- the realization that every man and woman, regardless of gender identity or sexual preference, could discover and fully live the Conscious Feminine and Masculine energies. This is a revelation that has framed her inner work and her clinical practice and teaching for over 30 years.

Theresa Holleran, LCSW is a depth psychotherapist with over 40 years of experience. She will share her insights on the Shadow Dance of the Feminine and Masculine with the Jung Society of Utah on March 9, 2017.

“Carl Jung believed there are opposites in the psyche that must to be integrated in order for us to fully individuate: feminine/masculine, human/divine, conscious/unconscious,” Holleran said. “They are integrated by realizing that we must “hold” this tension of opposites, resisting our tendency to deny or push away one part of the polarity. The well-lived life is going to be filled with paradoxes and contradictions,” she said. Essentially, the Conscious Feminine is our “Being-ness”, our ability to stand for and live our deepest values. The Masculine is the consort of the Feminine, our ability to “Do” and allows us to take action based on what is authentic and true for each of us. Hopefully, this dance of the Feminine and Masculine will guide us as we make the most difficult and complex decisions for ourselves and the well being of all on this planet.

Learning from our projections

“There is an innate longing in every human being to connect with “Other,” Holleran said. “Sometimes we’re longing for a lover relationship, sometimes the “Other” is that connection with the Divine, or our own creativity. Often we project god or goddess onto our romantic relationships.” She gave the example of being a young woman who often fell in love with men who were adventurous world-travelers, noting that this was an invitation to develop those adventurous qualities within herself. “These projections, whether they are positive or negative on the “Other” can be really useful if we work with them. Projections point the way to what wants to be developed or integrated within us, including those shadow aspects that we disdain.”

We can deepen our own inner marriage by working on our internal polarities and noticing what we project onto others.

Then we are free to see the reality of “Who” the other really is and make a conscious choice to stay or go. Integrating projections is hard, rigorous work, but the benefits are enormous. We not only become more empathetic toward others, we also regain the energy to live our own life. For a woman this might mean she has a right to go after and claim the life she wants, even though she may be scared out of her mind; and for a man it might mean that he has the right to be tender towards himself, to feel his own grief, to feel his own longing. We become comfortable in our own skin, and our capacity to listen deepens. One becomes so grounded in their own body and authentic truth, that they can fully take in the truth of the Other, and then discover if there is a shift in perspective. Often we try to tyrannize each other into agreement because we are afraid of loosing our own stance. The Inner Marriage provides a whole new way of listening to and receiving one another.

The Inner Marriage is represented by the caduceus, which is “the Tree of Life with the two snakes, representing the Masculine and Feminine energies moving back and forth in their own unique way,” until that final union at the end of life.

The same integration of masculine and feminine energies that supports our personal relationships can also assist us in creative work. “Artists usually create from the feminine principle of letting things emerge, being present, being in the flow,” Holleran said. “But to bring your work into the world, you have to have masculine strength.”

Curiosity and compassion

How then, can we facilitate this type of integration within ourselves? “Notice the men and women you really admire and study what it is about these people that you’re drawn to,” Holleran suggested. “Sense who they are, their being-ness, their authenticity, what they value, and their capacity to take action without polarizing.” She also noted active imagination with dream figures, mirroring oneself in a journal, and looking for information within relationship disturbances and communication difficulties as opportunities for greater integration. “Curiosity and compassion towards self and other are necessary meta-skills,” she said. “Being curious and compassionate about what you’re drawn to, and what you’re repulsed by. These observations can all be the compost for discovering more about yourself and your own inner marriage.”

The integration between such opposites as the Feminine and Masculine is necessary in order to appreciate both ends of the polarity and bring greater balance and wholeness into our lives. If we don’t bring these polarities into consciousness, they will be projected out and can become distorted, or even demonic. Look at the polarization and demonizing of “other” that is happening in our own country right now!

Her upcoming presentation will offer an opportunity for this type of inner work and creative community exploration. “Through sharing stories, laughter, wisdom, creative images and our wild and wonderful longings and disturbances, we will all discover something about how this dance of feminine and masculine lives in each of us.”

 

Don’t miss this soulful evening with Theresa Holleran!

Date: Thursday, March 9, 2017
Time: 7:00 – 9:00pm, with mingling before and after
Location: Salt Air Room at the U of U
200 S Central Campus Drive, Salt Lake City, Utah 84112
Cost: Donation appreciated, everyone welcome

Please become a member to support Jung Society of Utah events.

 

A Letter from Eros

A Letter from Eros

Dear one,

When you awoke, clear eyed, though with some of the pain not yet washed away by your tears, you asked me, “Why?” I replied, “There’s nothing like love to help you find your eros.” Then I winked and flew out the window. Your heart knew what I meant, but your mind was still confused, so I’ll explain:

I needed you to remember.

You came to your world perfect and whole, knowing your path, purpose, dharma, or contract—whatever you’d prefer to call it—and knowing that you are love. Then life happened and you forgot. You knew beforehand that this would happen, so you made an agreement with another soul—one who loves you beyond anything words can describe—that you would help each other remember that perfection, wholeness, purpose, and love. You sought my help in this as well, and as love is my domain, I was happy to oblige, even though I knew what it would feel like for you. I’ve seen it countless times, in infinite iterations across the eons, and while it’s always different, it’s also always the same.

The myths and stories paint me as mischievous and a bit of a troublemaker, which I don’t deny. But everything I do is done from a place of the purest love. So if you heard me laughing as I aimed my bow and arrow at your chest, it was only to keep from crying, because I knew what awaited you once I’d hit my mark.

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And I never miss. My arrow struck you square in the heart and you fell hard in love with someone you wouldn’t have expected to. A beautiful Other, the most fascinating person you’ve ever met, Divine perfection in human form: the Beloved. Suddenly, all of myths and fairy tales became real to you. You finally understood the love the poets and singers described. Life made sense in a way that it didn’t before.

Until it all came crashing down. The Beloved ran away from you, ignored you, persisted in some other relationship, wouldn’t believe you when you told them what you felt for them, or did any number of other things that broke your heart. You felt completely rejected, and more alone than ever.

But you always knew that love was real, even when everything about the situation led you to believe otherwise. Even when you were caught up in the stories your ego spun for you, your friends’ advice to “just find someone else,” and the seemingly endless confusion over how something that seemed so right could so utterly shatter you. That even from the depths of your despair, when you asked yourself, “Why this person?” you still loved them, and they still loved you. You’ve learned that only love is real—the rest is just illusion.

You know now that I never left you. Even though you didn’t see me, I was always there: In the way you felt when you held your Beloved in your arms, in the way you felt lighter and happier any time you talked to or heard from them, in the joy and completeness you felt at finally having found the “missing piece” of your soul. In your joy, you couldn’t hear me whisper that there never was a “missing piece,” but I didn’t expect you to.

I was also there in the darkness: The nights you spent crying, the days where everything hurt so much you wanted to die, the moments you felt so lonely that life didn’t seem worth living. In your suffering, you heard me suggest that your Beloved was reflecting qualities within your own soul that you simply hadn’t claimed yet—that all of those wonderful things you love and admire in that beautiful Other are in you as well, treasures waiting for you to find them. However, you didn’t believe me. That’s ok, I didn’t expect you to. I could have appeared to you, wings unfurled, bow and arrow in hand and told you, “The Beloved is a mirror, and you are in love with your own reflection,” and it’s likely that you still would not have believed me. That’s ok. I’m patient.

I knew you would eventually seek my help, and you did. You called to me, using one of the many names I answer to, and I responded. You looked more closely at your Beloved, finally seeing in them all of those qualities you’d not yet recognized in yourself. It has been my joy to watch you claim and integrate them, to cheer you on as you’ve become the best, strongest, truest, most authentic version of yourself. This is what I needed you to do, because you’ll need that open-hearted authenticity and strength to do what you came here to do. The world needs you to live your true purpose.

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So this was your initiation—the wound where the light came in. I’m sorry that it hurt so much, but I needed you to remember.

I needed you to remember what the circumstances of your life made you forget—the passion and joy that the pressures of daily life had beaten out of you, the gifts and talents dropped by the wayside in order to conform to societal expectations—these are keys to your purpose, and the qualities you admire in your Beloved were meant to wake you up to that, to help you find all that within yourself again. My arrow to your heart was the most efficient, effective means I had to redirect you to the path you chose before you came here.

Through loving this beautiful Other, you’ve learned to love yourself—in both your light and your shadows, learning to claim all the qualities within yourself that you will need to fully live your purpose. Now that you’ve done this, do you think I would let you walk alone? Through the unconditional love you’ve learned for yourself, you’re now better able to love the Other. You’re free now to love them as you love yourself: as one who is whole and perfect even in imperfection, whose light and shadow combine to make a beautiful work of art in progress, always in motion as you create the next adventure.

Just as I never left you, neither did your Beloved. This person was and is always with you. Together, you are greater than the sum of your individual lives. Instead of two, you are three—I am and always have been the third, the holder of the tension of opposites, the transpersonal love to guide you forward on your path.

My arrow to your heart is your exit wound, freeing you from all that no longer served you, all that kept you chained to an identity that conflicted with the truth of your soul. You saw me first in your Beloved, and then in yourself. And I, Eros, am simply one aspect, or facet of the the Divine. By seeing me in your Beloved and now in yourself, you are seeing the infinite Divinity and love that is within you and all others. This is what we needed you to remember.

With love always,
Eros

Dreams, Art, and the Unconscious: A Jungian Perspective

Dreams, Art, and the Unconscious: A Jungian Perspective

I wrote the following for the Jung Society of Utah blog.

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”

– C.G. Jung

Carl Jung saw both dreams and art (including paintings and poetry) as expressions of the unconscious. Of dreams he wrote, “The dream is the small hidden door in the deepest most intimate sanctum of the soul, which opens to that primeval cosmic night that was soul long before there was conscious ego and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach.”

In art, as in dreaming, the unconscious is often activated. In Jung’s essay, “On the Relation of Analytical Psychology to Poetry,” he wrote of certain creative works in which “we are dealing with an event originating in the unconscious nature; with something that achieves its aim without the assistance of human consciousness, and often defies it by willfully insisting on its own form and effect.” Similar to dreams, this type of art contains “something supra-personal that transcends our understanding to the same degree that the author’s consciousness was in abeyance during the process of creation.”1

A dream or a creative work may serve as “a spontaneous self-portrayal, in symbolic form, of the actual situation in the unconscious.”2 How then can we use dreams and art to make the unconscious conscious?

Personal and collective unconscious

Jung was known for working with the dreams of his patients, but “he also encouraged his patients to paint and interpreted the paintings in certain of his articles.”2 Jung himself made a practice of drawing mandalas, believing them to be archetypal forms representing the Self. He also created the images in The Red Book.

An image from The Red Book.

Finding psychological value in creativity, Jung “placed emphasis on both process and product.”2 He believed that creating art helped mediate between the patient and their problem, allowing the person distance from their psychic condition.2 Dreams and dream work can often provide a similar perspective, serving a compensatory function that helps integrate unconscious contents.

This mediation between the conscious and unconscious often occurs at the level of the personal unconscious, where both dream work and art work can assist individuals in working through their complexes. At this subjective level, one’s interpretation of a dream or creative work is often filtered through these “core patterns of emotions, memories, perceptions, and wishes organized around a common theme.” Becoming aware of and addressing these patterns within the personal unconscious through interacting with a dream or creative work can lead one to greater wholeness.

“What is essential in a work of art is that it should rise far above the realm of personal life and speak to the spirit and heart of the poet as man to the spirit and heart of mankind.” – C.G. Jung

However, working with dreams and art can reach a deeper level of the psyche. Jung “saw dreams as having the structure of a story or play.” He noted “many parallels between dreams and myths, and said they sometimes used the same symbols to express their themes.” This archetypal content that Jung noticed in dreams is often expressed in creative works as well. He wrote, “The creative process, so far as we are able to follow it at all, consists in the unconscious activation of an archetypal image, and in elaborating and shaping this image into the finished work. By giving it shape, the artist translates it into the language of the present, and so makes it possible for us to find our way back to the deepest springs of life.”1 In accessing this archetypal content, whether through dream work or creative work, one may be able to align with a source of transpersonal understanding that exists outside of ego-consciousness.

A vast sea of meaning

The great Sufi poet Rumi wrote, “Poetry is like the boat and its meaning is like the sea.” What Rumi seems to allude to is the idea that a creative work is a world unto itself, and hints at the notion of multiple levels of meaning. The same could be said of dreams.

The actual narrative structure of the dream or text of the poem is the boat, afloat on a vast sea of possible meanings. Such meanings could include one’s personal interpretation of the dream or creative work, a friend’s interpretation of it, and an objective, archetypal interpretation. Each level of meaning is present, available for discovery based on how one interacts with the world of the dream or the creative work. This one reason why there is value in discussing dreams and art with other people—multiple perspectives on the same textual content can shed light on the different levels of meaning, providing a larger, more colorful view of the world that exists within the dream or creative work.

“Poetry is like the boat and its meaning is like the sea.” – Rumi

Working with one’s own personal unconscious or the collective unconscious through interacting with dreams and art provides an opportunity for growth and learning by “making the unconscious conscious.” All levels of meaning, whether personal or archetypal are valuable and have a place within that vast ocean, which is as wide and deep as one’s curiosity and imagination allows.

Works cited

  1. On the Relation of Analytical Psychology to Poetry. C.G. Jung.
  2. A Critical Dictionary of Jungian Analysis. Andrew Samuels, Bani Shorter, Fred Plaut.

 

I leave you now to the stars

I leave you now to the stars

I leave you now to the stars
This coldest winter night
Far too long since I’ve seen your smile.
I’ll find you
Adrift on the sea of a dream
In the starlight
Made beautiful by the darkness.

I surrender my love to the heavens
This brightest summer day
Wishing you’d believed that it’s real.
You’ll find it
In the fire of the setting sun:
Civil twilight;
Broken embers, yours to claim.

I entrust you now to the angels
This turning of the tide
Knowing you believe in worlds unseen.
They’ll remind you—
Soft winds singing the truth
In the moonlight
As I turn to walk away.

For I cannot follow where you go.

From the longest, darkest night
To the longest, brightest day

Polaris,
Alpha Crucis.

Still…

I walk alongside you,
Hand in hand with Eros
As the sun sets;
As the sun rises.

Alone in the land without time
I kneel before your throne:
The Emperor, fixed in the heavens;
King of Night…

…and a boy
on a raft
lost at sea.

I leave you now to the stars.

 

© Amanda Butler

(Featured image found here)

Travel and Individuation

Travel and Individuation

When I return home from traveling, my apartment always looks different. Intellectually I know that everything is just as I left it, but after being away, the most familiar place in the world to me seems “off” in some way, not how I remembered it. Maybe the shade of paint in the bedroom looks brighter somehow, I think. Or perhaps it’s the way the light from the kitchen window filters in across the table at this hour of day, a time when I’m not usually home. But as I roll my suitcase down the hallway, there’s an overwhelming feeling of alien unfamiliarity. Then I realize it’s me. I’m the element that’s been transformed during my time away.

This transformation is the best thing that could have happened to me. “When you’re finished changing, you’re finished,” Benjamin Franklin wrote. Change is constant and inevitable, and travel provides a positive, meaningful, and deeply rewarding way to embrace change. It’s also a lot of fun. Here are a few of the ways travel has changed me for the better.

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Travel has made me more honest and real. (Photo taken at a toy store in Florence, Italy).

Through contact with people I would not have met otherwise, I’ve developed a better understanding of myself.

The great Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung wrote, “We meet ourselves time and time again in a thousand disguises on the path of life.” To me, this means that we learn about ourselves through our interactions with others. Traveling has allowed me to meet a variety of fascinating people from diverse cultures and backgrounds. In conversation with each of these strangers, some of whom became my friends, I’ve discovered shared interests, dreams, and goals, or common values. This has highlighted to me that we’re all very much the same at a fundamental level. I have learned something important from all of the friends I’ve made in my travels, especially one.

My first trip out of the US was to England when I was 25. I was traveling alone after a highly sheltered life spent entirely in Utah, where I’ve always felt like an alien amongst the local religious culture. Shy and insecure, I worried that I’d remain alone on my travels because no one would like me. But during my time in England, I met and fell in love with a man I’ll call James. Tall, handsome, charming, and a decade older than me, I was surprised to find out how much we had in common. Not only did he share my love of Star Trek and my loathing for the George W. Bush administration, he was passionate about travel, education, and art. We talked for hours that night, exchanging stories about our lives, and then spent as much time together as possible during my stay. When I returned home, we began a long distance relationship that lasted four years. This new type of relationship experience taught me to truly be ok on my own, how to give and receive love even when a partner isn’t by my side every day, and the importance of emotional honesty. James was also the first person who ever complimented me on my odd personality. When he told me, “You definitely march to the beat of your own drummer, and that’s a good thing,” my whole outlook changed. It was like I suddenly had permission to truly be myself, because for the first time, someone I loved had let me know that he accepted and loved me just as I was.

During our relationship, I often wondered how we could integrate our lives—how I would fit into his world or how he’d fit into mine, especially since he was so different than any other man I’d met. Then I realized that I wouldn’t want him to change to be like the other people in my life; that part of the reason why I loved him is because he was different from anyone else I’d ever known.

All of this came out of my interactions with someone I never would have known had I not left my familiar surroundings. Perhaps I could have learned the lessons of self-acceptance, loving others for their differences, and finding common ground across cultures some other way, but this was the perfect fit for me.

I have gained an understanding of what “home” truly is.

I was excited and a little scared to travel across the Atlantic for the first time. After spending so many years in the same place, the idea of being so far away from home was intimidating. Imagine my surprise when I immediately felt at home in the crowded, unfamiliar streets of London. I had a sense of déjà vu—something about the city felt deeply familiar, though I had never been there before. The feeling followed me to Oxford and Bath, Plymouth and Dover. I felt it so strongly in St. Ives that I never wanted to leave. It was waiting for me again any time I returned to England, and I also felt the same way as I traveled though Scotland and Ireland. It is the most at home I have ever felt anywhere, and mingled with that strange familiarity was a feeling of peace, a calm knowing that even though I was on the “other side of the world,” far away from what was familiar, no harm would come to me and everything would be all right. This has always turned out to be true.

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St. Ives, England

I’m still unsure what was underlying that initial feeling of déjà vu and familiarity in an unfamiliar place, but I’d like to think it has something to do with trusting life—that because I had enough faith and courage to step out of my comfort zone, despite being introverted and anxious, something filled in the gaps in my experience and allowed me to adapt and be flexible enough to find peace in an unfamiliar place.

Through experiencing that adaptability in a way that I hadn’t before, I gained confidence. I was then able to travel to places much more unlike my country of origin with the knowledge that I’d be able to handle anything I encountered there as well. This confidence allowed me to feel safe and secure, even when I was wandering around lost in the hot, crowded streets of Cairo, while barely remembering enough Arabic to say “thank you.” After safely finding my way back to my hotel, I realized that I’d done so without getting caught up in the feelings of panic that I’d experienced in similar situations. This gave me even greater confidence and trust in myself, as I realized that I’ll always be able to navigate any situation I’m presented with.

To me, that’s what feeling at “home” is really about—being able to trust and have faith in myself and my capabilities regardless of the circumstances. If I have enough trust and faith in myself to confidently face and be present with whatever is happening right now, anywhere can feel like home.

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Strange, yet familiar.

I have learned to appreciate life’s mysteries.

Could there be something more to the experiences of familiarity I had while wandering through unfamiliar cities in the UK and Ireland? Perhaps memories of past lives spent in those places? Or possibly epigenetic memories from my English, Scottish, and Irish ancestors, encoded into my DNA and activated by walking down the streets where they may have walked? Maybe I’ll never know, and I’m ok with that. It’s fun to speculate and imagine.

I used to prefer thinking that it was possible to have all the answers, but travel has opened my mind to life’s mysteries. The more I experience of the world, the more I realize how much I don’t know. This is exciting because I love to learn new things—it’s become a huge part of what makes life interesting and worthwhile for me. I find peace in knowing that there will always be more to learn.

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Home in a past life?

In the darkness and shadow of mystery, there is power and magic. During my time in Egypt I took a cruise down the Nile. One evening, just before sunset, the ship’s crew turned off the engines, lights, and music, and we all gathered on the top deck and waited. At dusk, the hazy gray sky burned yellow and orange as the sun sank into the glistening silver river. Away from any city lights, the palm trees and desert sand dissolved into the eerie blackness of 5,000 years ago, and it was almost as if I could feel the presence of Isis and Osiris, watching us from the riverbank. All was still and silent, but only for a few minutes. The deck lights came back on and the party resumed. Through enjoying the contrast of light and dark, knowledge and mystery, I’ve gained a greater appreciation for all the subtle forms of beauty and wonder in the world.

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Sunset along the Nile.

I have come to embrace the bittersweet truth that nothing lasts.

Just as the experience of dark, silent mystery on the Nile lasted only a short time before the lights and music returned, all things eventually end. Travel experiences, relationships, jobs, and anything else will come to some kind of close, whether we’re ready or not, and it’s ok to feel sad about that. After an amazing trip to Ireland, I cried for almost the entire flight back to the US because I didn’t want to leave. Afterward, I felt better and could look back with joy on the wonderful experiences I’d had and new friends I’d made there.

Could it be that part of the reason we fear change, particularly endings, is because we’re afraid of the strong emotions these experiences evoke within us? If so, there’s really nothing to fear. Grief, sadness, and other feelings are only temporary states, like everything else. By choosing to be present with them and experience them fully, they can simply pass through us and be released, replaced by something else. Such strong emotions, even the “negative” ones, add depth and color to our experiences. If we allow for change and endings, letting ourselves be vulnerable enough to experience all of the feelings associated, we grow so much braver and stronger, with improved capacity and confidence to handle anything life throws at us. We also develop greater empathy for others.

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Cliffs of Moher, Ireland

Endings will always come, so it is best to simply embrace the change. I’ve learned that the most helpful way to do this is to hold something close, feeling as much appreciation for it as possible while I have it, and then let it go with gratitude when the time comes. There will always be a way to find closure. Remember James, my long-distance love from England? He ended our relationship with no explanation, and I was devastated. The lack of closure I felt left me confused and deeply depressed for several years, but I pushed those feelings aside and tried to distract myself by becoming a workaholic, rarely leaving my home for anything else, even to travel.

Denying myself one of my passions only made things worse, and life finally forced me to deal with my feelings about the situation. When I had done so enough to get back out into the world, I visited England again, nearly a decade after my first time outside of the US. After a miserable ride on the Tube with my suitcase during rush hour, I got off at the stop near my hotel in London and began looking for the address in my itinerary. I had just spotted the hotel when across the street I saw a familiar figure, tall and handsome, instantly recognizable. Our eyes met, and I lifted my hand to wave but he quickly turned and hurried in the opposite direction, disappearing around a corner before I could cross the street. Was it James? Yes, most definitely. How is that possible? One of life’s mysteries. Something always fills in the gaps. The best thing about endings is that they open us up to new beginnings.

Egypt
I had fantasized about visiting Egypt since age five, after seeing the Ramses II exhibit with my parents when it came to our city.

These are just a few ways that travel has changed, healed, and saved me. St. Augustine of Hippo wrote, “The world is a great book, of which they that never stir from home read only a page.” Each page I’ve read, whether in the UK, Egypt, Italy, Germany, Ireland, or anywhere else, has transformed me into a better version of myself.

“We shall not cease from exploration,” TS Eliot wrote, “and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” My exploration of the world through travel has always opened me to greater self-knowledge and understanding, with each round of exploration helping me to feel more whole in some way.

 

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Alabaster Mosque, Cairo, Egypt
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Abu Simbel, Egypt
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Irish coastline
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Irish coastline