I remember reading that when you have a fallback position you do just that—fall back.
And so I think it’s been in my case, with my childhood home in Santa Fe. As long as I could go back, I went back, looked back, held back, dwelling in the past as much as anywhere. I was pulled always in two directions, though more strongly to the first. Tugged by a stealthy undertow of memory, of long-established expectation and obligation; caught in a most amiable trap. I never quite left off being a child (not paying any real attention to Corinthians, though loving the language).
Several years ago I took a weekend workshop at Tassajara with Edward Espe Brown, the Zen teacher and bread book writer, “Change Your Handwriting and Change Your Life.” During the course of that, one of the things that did change my life, happily, allowing me to move into a different and a better place than I had been, was learning that I needed to cross the tails of my long “ys” and “gs”—always before, I’d left them dangling in the past. Left them hanging out uselessly, leading only backwards.
image: Christie B. Cochrell, At Hadrian's Wall