If you haven’t read The Alchemist (spoiler alert: skip to the next paragraph if you ever plan to and don’t want to know how it ends) and grasped the true meaning, it speaks to how you can travel the world, be rich, be poor, and experience everything life can possibly offer—but you will not find what you are looking for until you look right where you are. In essence, the treasure we seek is within.
Last night I came back from a 28-hour marathon trip from Westhampton Beach, NY, across the Long Island Sound via Port Jefferson to Connecticut, to Branford/Rhode Island/Branford/Rhode Island, and back across the Sound on the east end of Long Island via Orient Point to drive back to where I started from. I went in a large circle.
While having a quick takeout dinner I grabbed earlier in the day on the Cross Sound Ferry yesterday evening, I suddenly felt the urge to MOVE. I had been in the car or in a tight, cramped space for more than a day and felt like I had to break free.
But there was almost nowhere to go…
So I walked. And walked. And walked.
I walked around and around in circles on the ferry. The wind was warm—breezier in some parts than others. I breathed it all in deeply. The sun was setting.
I passed the same people many times. People mostly doing the same things—on their phones, with a handful engaged with one another. I walked past them over and over in my own reverie as the ship moved forward from one destination to the next.
Something about this felt symbolic. Many remain in one spot, or like I was doing, going around and around in circles as we are carried ahead by life via a man-made creation known as time.
Once the ferry arrived and I began the drive from the east end, it all felt so very familiar—the dark, the long winding roads, infrequently passing other cars as I skirted my eyes toward the right where the white line meets the edge of the road, as I was taught in Defensive Driving when I was 16.
I felt like I was that age again. Driving familiar roads. Some of the same roads I had driven then. The landscape of the road, the lining of the trees against the night sky, the warm summer air, the cicadas, and the crickets. All my senses were highly engaged. I was so present and aware of the moment—and the connection to the past.
The radio was on and connected to my iPhone. I was listening to Angels and Airwaves. I looked at the name of the album’s words that lit up on my car’s navigation display:
Stomping the Phantom Brake Pedal
I had only just noticed what those words mean.
Has my life just gone on until now while I went in circles?
I spent my entire adulthood on a path away from where I grew up.
The first 16 years or so were quite lovely. I put trauma behind and made a life for myself—one that I was proud of. But a divorce, and what should have been a happier ending, threw me into a tailspin. I was suddenly looking for something. And to make what could be a very long story short, I unearthed trauma that was still lingering, and the last 13 years have been about discovery and healing.
But I stayed away from home.
My current husband grew up a mere 7 miles, as the crow flies, from the place I attempted to escape and was driving toward last night. I’ve visited his hometown for years while skirting around my own. I never really went back—mentally or physically.
Then a few weeks ago, on a whim, I decided to stop in my own hometown on the way past it. I was alone. I had time. I suddenly wanted to see it.
To my wonder, I felt nostalgia—something I never imagined I would feel. The feeling came on quickly, without warning. It hurt because it felt unfamiliar. Yet it was very happy, and at the same time very sad. A mix of emotion that only nostalgia unearths.
A few days later I realized I could love and dislike the past equally. It’s not all or nothing.
The feeling of suddenly being open to seeing the good of the past felt so free. It was a band-aid that had been on for so long that when it came off, that part of me felt exposed and unfamiliar—yet amazing. In the same way skin under tape would feel when exposed once again to the sun. Cautious, but so warm and, dare I say, inviting.
I let that all marinate for a few weeks and carried on with this temporarily homeless existence my husband and I have been living in since our home has been under construction in June.
And here I was last night, coming back to where I started the prior day and literally close to where my adulthood journey began.
I suddenly wanted to break out—not so dissimilar to the feeling I had on the ferry earlier.
What I am looking for has always been with me, like in The Alchemist. I know this intellectually. However, it seems difficult to access most of the time.
Last night, that portal was wide open.
I wanted to be where I was—in the flow, in the perfect moment always, like the spiritual teachings of all shapes, sizes, and religions teach us. We are always where we are supposed to be.
If we let go of our imaginary steering wheel and embrace what God/Brahma/The Universe has in store for us, we will truly be able to enjoy the ride.
Maybe my purpose this morning is to write about this. To share that you can stomp on the phantom brake pedal—out of standstills or ruts you find yourself in—and break habits that stop you from being the fullest expression of yourself.
I feel it now at this very moment. I know I will forget it quite soon and carry on with my day and my life very much as I always have—but perhaps a smidgen more enlightened.
It’s all these little “smidges” of becoming more aware that lead to peace and flow. That is the only path forward.
Perhaps forward is really upward?
Perhaps we can stay where we are in that same physical place, the same rut, but use the brake to find true freedom in knowing that there is always a very special treasure within.
That treasure is inner freedom and peace.
Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
Please feel free to leave a comment or subscribe for future updates.