Circling Back: Places That Heal
audio version:
One of the greatest gifts I’m discovering in this stage of life is the freedom to be spontaneous. With fewer responsibilities weighing me down, I sometimes find myself swept up in small adventures that would have been impossible years ago. Just last week, David and I got in the car with no real plan, just that liberating feeling of having all the time in the world, and ended up in the Berkshires.
As we drove through Lenox, with those beautiful mountains rising around us (so different from the ocean views where we live), something unexpected happened. A memory rose up, vivid and startling. This is where I went to boarding school at sixteen, Foxhollow, during a painfully hard time in my life. The school is gone now, replaced by condominiums, but the land is unchanged, the steel-blue lake, the little hill surrounded by bigger ones, and that woodsy trail leading to Edith Wharton’s estate, The Mount.
Back then, The Mount was a neglected, crumbling mansion my friends and I would wander through, trying to do anything that would distract me from the looming death of my dad.
Now, decades later, it stands as a gorgeous National Historic Landmark, restored and celebrated for Wharton’s legacy. Standing there with David, taking it all in through my older, steadier eyes, I felt something click into place. This land held so much of my teenage pain, and now, it was holding my joy, too. Where I once walked those paths weighed down by loss, I walked them now feeling lighter, grateful for how far I’ve come.
It struck me how The Mount’s transformation mirrored my own. What had once been abandoned and broken was now tenderly restored. That place bore witness to my sorrow, and now it bears witness to my healing. That spontaneous journey—one of the perks of having fewer obligations- brought me full circle in the most gentle, unexpected way. The mountains that sheltered me at sixteen are still here, quietly offering their strength, but now they are guardians not just of my pain, but of my resilience, something I couldn’t see back then.
Sometimes, returning to the places where the hard stories began can reveal how much we’ve changed. Seeing both the landscape and myself restored over time helped me let go of the lingering sadness when I think of that time in my life. This trip reminded me: healing does happen, quietly, deeply, and sometimes only visible in hindsight.
So I’m curious, are there places from your past that might surprise you if you visited them now? Somewhere meaningful that you haven’t thought about in years, possibly on purpose, like me? Is there a landscape that holds a piece of your story, waiting to be seen with your new eyes?
I’d love to hear your thoughts or your own story—if you feel called to share.
