Whenever I pull into Winona Lake, Indiana I’m overcome with a feeling of nostalgia. For 4 years I called this place home while I was a student in college. I was growing distant from my hometown and planting some temporary roots in this village by the lake.
Whenever I get into town I can’t help but drive by and through campus. Looking around, recalling memories and things life brought my way. It represents so much that is familiar but yet so much that is different. Even when I stand by the water, the fall breeze off the lake reminds me of standing there as a student, trying to figure out my life. With the wind blowing on my face and through my hair I didn’t usually get anywhere with that process, I usually just got cold and walked back to my warm room.
It’s interesting to revisit a place that holds so many memories, tears, and insights about who I was. When I sit on this couch in my home away from campus, the smells and sounds are just like they were when I would sneak away from campus and play video games. Or when we would have Sunday lunches or Friday night game nights. It was a community in this home… and one that still stands, with the unlocked door.
It’s easy to think back and remember the good times, but in doing so I’m neglecting to think about the harsher sides of the story. I find a little tension with this. This village named me, in many respects. Through my involvement at school and with people who were or are still around. It was a name that I’m to be a certain kind of man, friend and Christian. Maybe this was God, maybe it was a system, and maybe it was a lake.
It’s easy to remember who I was, at the cost of forgetting who I am now.
There are elements to that 4 year story that I’m not proud of. Decisions that didn’t always bring the best out of me or others. And things that I learned then, that I disagree with now. But it’s so easy to be owned by our past. Whether positive or negative, smiles or frowns, laughter or tears… it avoids the present. And can weigh you down.
This place represents a lot of vulnerability for me. The guy that was here then is no longer present in this place. I must admit, what feels good is to look around and to know that I got out and came back a different man.
The nostalgia reminds me of the freedom that exists now. It reminds me that I’m not who I thought I was. I’m actually more. And it reminds me that when I thought all there was, was that current experience… there’s much more to explore.
The nostalgia helps me remember the hope that exists when we move from our past to our present.
