Neil Sattin.com

When I was seventeen years old, my father and I drove together from Maine to Southern California, where I was going to be attending college.  Back then I was your typical rebellious teenager, and the two of us were definitely headed into some of the more rocky moments of our relationship - which certainly made for some tense moments on the road.  One highlight of the trip for both of us, however, was when we cruised through Nashville (Tennessee) to check out the home where we lived during the first 3 years of my life.  We rang the bell, and the at-the-time current owner graciously let us in to look around.  It was amazing how familiar everything looked to me, how something as simple as the single step down into the sunken den could bring back a flood of memories from such an early time in my life.

In the spirit of such an adventure, the journey back to a place once called home, Tonya and I stopped in Augusta (Maine) on our way back from MOFGA’s Common Ground Fair last night.  At a minimum I wanted her to see the house where I grew up, and I hoped that perhaps the current inhabitants would see this new, young family at the door (us), and invite us in to see what it all is like now, some fifteen years since the last time I had been inside the home.  Their hearts would be warmed by the sight of us standing there with our 8-month-old baby in our arms, and they’d offer us tea while asking me all sorts of questions about what life in the “Mayfair” community of Augusta used to be like in it’s heyday.

Well…it didn’t exactly play out that way.  Initially it appeared that no one was home, but it became clear as we approached that the current occupants like to live with as few lights on as possible.  They’re great conservers of energy!  Hell, even the doorbell was missing that little pink glow that lets you know it’s working, but we pushed it anyway.  Once.  No answer.  Twice.  Still no answer.  Suddenly Tonya sees movement in one of the windows, and the door is opened.

Now I realize that it’s not every day that someone comes to your door and says that they used to live in your house.  But if someone ever does that to you, please at least show them the courtesy of a LITTLE enthusiasm - or at least a smile - anything to acknowledge the common humanity between the two of you, the need for shelter, the fact that you both happened to be/have been sheltered by the same roof and four walls.  The guy who answered the door at my old house was perplexed, and, strangely, nervous.  Maybe it’s because he recognized that the house wasn’t looking so good - from the looks of it, he wasn’t really a “maintenance” inclined sort of guy.  It becamse immediately clear to me that actually entering the home was going to be out of the question, so I just asked him if he wouldn’t mind my showing my wife around the yard.  “I guess that’d be ok,” he said.  “As long as it’s around the yard.”  In other words, ain’t no friggin’ way you’re coming through this doorway.  But ok, at that point, I didn’t really WANT to be in that house anyways.

So off to the yard.  The trees that we planted 30 years ago were enormous - good and bad, as they seemed to be blocking some much-needed sun, and the back and side lawns had become mostly moss.  There was a forest where our garden used to be, the field of blackberry bushes was gone - replaced by a nice new cookie-cutter cape.  The apple tree was sharing its bounty with the ground - looking back on it we should have picked some of the ones still in the tree.  We looked for the spot where I had buried “Leon”, my pet chameleon (actually he was an anole), and even though it had vanished I said a little prayer for his tiny green (or brown) self, hoping that his next life was treating him better than I was capable of back when I was in 3rd grade.

I realize that all of this sounds a bit…depressing.  It was and it wasn’t.  I loved being there with Tonya and Dash, showing them the spots where my sister and I spent so many of our younger days with our parents, who were together at the time.  I loved describing it to her, how it was back when that house was new and full of the same promise that a new family, young and recently transplanted from Tennessee had brought along with them.  I loved the real experience of it - how my perspective on that house has totally changed, how my perspective on the life that I lived there has totally changed. 

And yet it was sad.  I missed that house, and it just looked so vacant, so reluctantly housing the awkward-and-somewhat-down-and-out-looking dude who lived there with his wife and cat.  Neither I nor the house could have predicted what our lives would hold in store for us - and I wondered if my house was wishing for another family like ours had once been - full of life, full of possibility.  I do hope that my footsteps felt as familiar to the yard as the yard felt to my footsteps, that it felt a rekindling of old passion, old hope, old zeal for life.

Tonya and I walked down my old street, and we got inspired upon hearing the father of an old friend of mine out in his back yard.  We climbed the rock wall, snuck through a hole in his hedge, and came upon him closing up the pool for the season.  And who was there to help him but his son, Jared, the first real friend that I had here in the state of Maine!  We hadn’t seen each other in quite some time - perhaps as many as ten years - so we all stood around the pool, swapping stories from the past decade and introducing each other to our new families (Jared is recently married with a son).

In those moments of conversation it was easier to see how I could personify my house all I wanted to, but that my true “home” is something that I carry around with me wherever I go.  “Home” is night-after-night of playing Trivial Pursuit next to the pool with a group of friends, is the love a 3rd-grader feels for his deceased chameleon, is figuring out how to consume all the zucchinis in a bountiful garden, is having wondered whether or not you could bend the young birch tree and use it to slingshot yourself across the neighborhood.  “Home” is riding your bike up the dark street as quickly as possible so as to evade the monsters lurking in the shadows, is watching your parents drive away en route to the hospital (again), is…basically is everything that happened, everything we all did “back then”, the memories of feeling that created the core fabric of our existence.  Sure, there are things to mourn, things to be missed, things to regret, things to relish.  In the present moment, any of those options are your choice.  

The important thing is to recognize that here and now your home is what you choose to do with yourself and with the people around you.  Home doesn’t exist in a building, no matter how well-designed it is.  Home is being present, is making choices that keep you off autopilot and that add to your core experience.  Your core has the capacity to grow and grow - such that each step of the way you are coming from your center - your center just keeps getting bigger.  When we function on autopilot, though, our core becomes just a tiny portion of our overall experience, adding to the potential feeling of alienation.  But it’s your participation in the present moment that will help you stay connected and feel like you’re at home.

For all I know, the dude who moved into my old house saw it there, nestled in its own private mysterious grove of overgrown pine trees, saw the empty dog kennel in the back yard, saw the moss growing where grass used to be, saw the siding peeling away from the garage, and thought “Ah.  Perfect!  Just like home.” 

I’ve been on an intentional quest to have the best life I could possibly have.  As I look around me, at my family and friends, and within me, at my state of being, it seems like I’m doing a pretty darn good job of it.  Still, there are occasionally “off” days - and on those days I often spend some time thinking about a better day and conjuring up the feeling of what THAT day was like.  In the process, I get even more well-practiced at feeling good, AND I also get to consider the following questions: What do I consider to be the best days of my life (so far)?  What characteristics do they share?  How can I have more of them?  What does the nature of those days tell me about what I should be doing with my life?  I believe that the answers to these questions, combined with nurturing the feeling of an excellent day within you, can keep you on an ever-more-positive path in your own life.  It’s the Law of Attraction working for you, bringing more goodness your way the more that you focus on goodness.  And when a day isn’t going quite your way, you can summon up the feeling of one of the “best days of your life” to put a totally different spin on whatever’s got you down (see this interesting article on the Joy of Sadness by Steve Pavlina).

The other day I had something of a Eureka! moment.  In true Eureka! fashion, this realization occured to me at a totally random time - driving somewhere with my wife, Tonya.  We were (I’m sure of it) talking about something totally different, when I suddenly exclaimed, “I get it!  I understand why weddings are so powerful!”  Toni was all ears, in her I-love-you-husband-mr-non-sequitur kind of way.

I can imagine, so vividly, standing at the hearth (we were married at a Bed and Breakfast in upstate NY), surrounded by some of my best friends in the world, waiting, waiting, waiting for my lovely wife-to-be to appear.  I was trembling - with anticipation, with love, with excitement, and I can remember looking out over the people gathered there, who were all looking back at me, expectantly, with smiles on their faces and love in their eyes.  I hadn’t even MET some of these people yet (Toni’s extended family members), but we were all there, waiting for the SAME moment.  It was quiet, so quiet - and nerve-wracking - I had my best man Jay tell me a joke to help me relax a bit.  A perfect laugh as I stood there shaking in my shoes…

Then someone gave the signal, and my best college friend Peter Sharpe started playing the guitar.  It was the most beautiful melody in the world, as I remember it, and that was only slightly because of the tune itself - it was primarily because of who was playing it and the intention with which we we all listening to it being played.  That music was the sign that it was all finally in motion, and we all watched as each member of the bridal party came out of hiding to usher in the ceremony and my lovely bride.

And then Toni was there, all of a sudden, and it was almost like I had never seen her before.  She was radiant, amazing, gorgeous, and the smile on her face was ENORMOUS.  I couldn’t help but start crying then (just like I’m crying now, as I write this) - they were truly tears of sheer joy, just love bursting out of me right there for everyone to see.  She walked up our short little aisle, with her father at her side (who was also smiling like crazy - thankfully), and then we were there, the two of us, our friend Louis, and everyone gathered to help us make it all official - every single person focused on the same purpose. 

The ceremony itself is something of a blur in my mind.  We had all of these candles to light - Toni couldn’t make the lighter work, and I couldn’t manage to stop shaking long enough to light anything - so that provided a bit of comic relief as things began (my advice to you - practice everything down to lighting the lighter!).  I remember staring into each other’s eyes through tears, I remember Louis’s voice, I remember watching our rings get blessed as they were passed around the room, from friend to friend, I remember that I crushed that wine glass under my foot with the force of a giant (for fear that somehow I wouldn’t manage it). 

I remember our kiss, which was so new to me, and I was so glad that I had waited ’til marriage to kiss her. 

Ok, I’m kidding about the waiting part.  But it was new - they were, after all, my WIFE’S lips!  (I’ll spare you the picture.)

And the music - I think it played as we left, as that’s how I hear it in my memory, anyway.  The lovely piano of Romeo’s Tune (Steve Forbert), and the words that Toni and I had sung to each other many a night leading up to that moment.  Everyone standing, smiling…

Toni and I do share something special between the two of us - even more so now that Dash is around - and the moments where we’re really connecting are indeed some of the best moments of my life.  But that day (that whole weekend, really) was all the more special because we were there, all of us, family and friends - and especially in those moments, of the ceremony itself, we were all totally in alignment, of the same mind, of the same purpose.  That’s what came to me in my Eureka! moment, the realization of how weddings bring all these separate people together and focus them into a unified moment of collective anticipation, collective love, collective happiness.  It’s powerful stuff.

So what are some of the best moments of your life?  What makes them so special to you?  What does it tell you about what you need more of in your life?  Identify those moments, savor them, and keep them handy in case an off day threatens to send you spiraling off in a less-than-positive direction.  Because for me, when I spend some time, say, writing about such a wonderful day for me, I can look outside at my deck that needs staining, or the pile of dishes that needs washing, and I can feel the exact same love that I felt on my wedding day.  And then the positive feeling grows, just like that!