On the restfulness of familiar places.
I am sitting in Victoria, Canada. It is a celebration trip for our 10th Wedding Anniversary. I am looking out over the bay watching the ferry come in and the water glistening in the sunshine.
This is not a new place. It is a familiar place; we have been here seven of our anniversaries. But it is better for the familiarity. Something novel is delightful at one level simply because it is unknown. But something familiar is delightful because you can build memories on top of memories.
Leslie and I walk to the same book store every time. We walk through the door and are reminded of the time we found the edition of Peter Rabbit or got lost in the vintage book aisle.
We stay at the same hotel and are reminded of our prior celebrations every time we see the trims of the doors and the accents of the paint. We enjoy the same scone and delight in the same drink. Both of which we can only find there.
In repeatedly coming back to a place, we have created a container for memory. In the first year it was all new and unknown but now it is known and it is comfortable. We don’t spend the first day getting settled or figuring things out. It is almost like continuing where we left off the time before.
Going to a new place is an adventure because of discovery and I enjoy many new adventures. But when the desire is to be at rest coming to a known place is preferred. I know this place and can sit in that chair, or take that walk, and eat that meal and rejoin a place where I have rested before. I have practiced rest here and thus I am ready to rest again.
I will continue to stack memories, knowing the practice of rest in a familiar place will only make the return trip more memorable and more restful.
Here’s to a restful place.
