Everything Old is New Again

My thoughts have recently spun around the theme: returning, and the associated task of perceiving old things anew. Two things came to mind.

(1) Re-reading books. I've found that my perception of a novel changes -- a shift in focus, a shift in meaning, new weight-- as I get older and read it again. I first read To Kill a Mockingbird with a 13 year old's eyes. Accordingly, I think I paid the most attention to the motives and actions of Scout and Jem -- these were spelled out most clearly, and at that age they seemed like the obvious bits with which to concern myself. I read the book again recently. Suddenly rich narrative fabrics were apparent; new threads emerged soaked with new empathy, new understanding. I was shocked at the narrowness of my prior reading; shocked, but then reassured. I had grown since then. One ought to grow, to see things with new eyes. I mistrust the eighth grader who slides straight to Understanding, without trudging through Experience first.

This reminded me of returning to classics, of looking for new wisdom in old places.

(2) The second return is physically manifest: I am living in Cambridge, again. The first time was different. It occurred to me that as an undergraduate, I did not do terribly well with the college campus metaphysical mindset, this strange awareness of being not-at-home. However, I did not understand this at the time -- it was only this evening, as I waited for sushi at the Porter Exchange, that I put my finger on what bothered me. Campus life is partially institutionalized homesickness: we form South Asian associations, world music groups; we inform and enrich one another but do so largely to surround ourselves with comfort, for we are far from home. This vague persistent undercurrent of out-of-placeness confused me, frankly. I did not dare call Cambridge home; that would be treason to my hometown of Buffalo. Campus housing was clearly temporary: we were transient kings of milk crate-castles. Every year we sacked the fortress and cleared the venerable halls for summer. This was hardly motivation to call a place home. I was deeply unsettled with being...unsettled. I felt placeless.

The intervening year in Chicago was an opportunity to see what things could be like. I chose to live there, I was part of the workforce, I commuted daily. When there was traffic in downtown, I knew about it. I returned to Cambridge with hope.

And it's different this time. I have to remind myself to look at familiar places -- Cambridge Common, Harvard Square proper -- with new eyes, but much of the rest is coming naturally. I know the neighborhoods, I ride my bike, I go to the yard sales, I yell at the kids. It is distinct from returning home, but I have returned, and this is home. Good.

Hope things are well,
R.