You know how Facebook gives you memories to look back on? Apparently, three years ago, I posted, “According to a Breviary of Health, published in 1547, ‘There be diverse sorts of wounds. Some be new and fresh, and some be old and deep.’ May you be gentle with your wounds and live light.”
The picture I posted with this showed a piercing blue sky, a world of white, and a birch tree with savage gashes in it. Were they caused by a bear? Moose? Bigfoot? Who knew?
It might seem odd to be writing about that old post while I’m in Tokyo, but I’ll be honest. I’m at the point where I’m ready to go home. I miss my woods, my family, my friends. Of course, I miss Alfred the Chiweenie, as well as an oven and more than two pair of jeans.
Plus, it rained a couple of days ago, and the rain here for me is like a full moon for everyone else. My old and deep wounds start howling. It happens every single time.
I don’t get it.
More than that, I don’t like it, so I add salt to the wounds.
Sound familiar?
We often think that travel will save us from ourselves. We are in a new place. We will be entirely new people without any of that tiresome and troublesome baggage we often carry around, right?
I’m having my students write reflections about their time here, and one student observed the very same thing that I’ve learned over the years as I’ve traveled: we bring the same selves with us wherever we go.
In other words, I’m still the same me. There just happens to be more sushi and soy sauce here.
To be clear, I’m fine now.
It’s hard to be vulnerable, but I think it’s crucial we brave naming when times get tough, especially when we are someplace amazing—with Instagram-worthy shots everywhere you look.
Because then people might not feel so alone when it happens to them.
Beyond that, what else can we do?
One possible answer is something I saw in a window the other day. It was a business called “First Time Human.” I have no idea what kind of business it might be, but as soon as I saw that sign, I knew I had been given a powerful insight.
We are all first-time humans.
This means that we are all doing our best to figure things out. As such, we will struggle. We will mess up. We will wound just as we will be wounded.
Because our parents are (or were) also first-time humans. Same with our beloveds and our kids. Our friends and our colleagues.
As we are ourselves.
So, when the diverse wounds old or new get tender, may we first and foremost put down the salt.
Then, may we find kind and gentle ways to care for ourselves.
May we remember we are all first-time humans doing our best—whether that be in the rain or the snow, in the light or in the dark, in the crush of bodies in a subway car or in the empty hush of the bare and beautiful woods.
I absolutely love reading your words, insights, and wisdoms, Betsy... as well as your struggles. It always reminds me "I am human. It will be okay." It also reminds me how much I love words and the ways we use them to paint pictures and open doors; to create worlds and tear down fears; to share pain and remind others of joy... including ourselves. I have to say, I've been stockpiling your essays since you've been in Japan to read them when I'm in a "rested space," but I haven't gotten there yet. Something prompted me, probably like that sign in the window... Thank you, Betsy. Stay true.
Those old wounds...they never go away, but they do lessen. Regardless, they hit hard when they show up again. Glad you were able to feel yours and move through it to the "I'm fine now" side. Thank you for your honesty, Betsy. One other part that resonated with me is the idea that traveling will be a balm to all things at all times and only happiness and adventure. Wherever we go, all we are still travels with us. Wounds and all. Sending a hug and some love.