Wherever You Go, There You Are
It was one of those weekends, the kind that settles into your bones and whispers truths you already knew but hadn't really thought about. A weekend brimming with "firsts" for my family, each one a little pinprick of light illuminating a familiar corner of my heart. And through it all, a gentle echo: wherever you go, there you are.
The entire weekend was framed in a first, at least for me and one of our kids: spending the weekend at a monastery. The grounds themselves were a balm to the soul. Verdant paths wound through ancient trees, sunlight dappled through the leaves, and a profound stillness and peace hung in the air, inviting us to slow our hurried paces. It was a place that naturally encouraged reflection, a space where the frantic energy of everyday life seemed to gently dissipate.
The second of these new experiences unfolded on Saturday, a day dedicated to celebrating my husband's academic achievement. Now, this wasn't his first foray into the world of higher learning, but it was his first American degree, and with it came a tradition entirely new to him: the commencement ceremony. In his home country, such grand public celebrations don't typically mark this milestone. To witness his quiet pride as he walked across that stage, one in a sea of black gowns, felt profoundly significant. It was a moment of acknowledging not just the hard work poured into late-night study sessions and paper writing, but also to embrace the awesome example he gives our children, that in life you never stop learning, evolving, growing. Even in new landscapes and situations, the core of who we are, our dedication and perseverance, travels with us.
We had the opportunity to attend Mass with the monks twice while there, and we found ourselves enveloped in an entirely different kind of first. The singing of the monks. Not the typical singing of a hymn, but the singing and chanting of the responses and prayers in one, unified and melodious voice. Within the hushed walls of the church, the monks still chant. Gregorian chant. I had heard recordings before, but this was different. This was visceral. The sound, ancient and pure, resonated through the space, a tapestry woven with voices lifted in devotion. It was more than music; it felt like a direct line to something timeless, something sacred. In that moment, surrounded by the ethereal melodies and the quiet reverence of the setting, I felt a profound sense of peace, a fleeting glimpse of what might be heaven on earth. The experience transcended the physical location; it settled within, a reminder that that inner sanctuary of calm is always accessible, no matter where we find ourselves.
While the beauty of the natural surroundings and the unique experience of monastic life were certainly impactful, it was perhaps most interesting to see how each of us engaged with the setting. I was again reminded of the resilience, curiosity and openness my children bring to new experiences, while not leaving behind their responsibilities from home. We still brought computers and books to keep up with studies and other commitments, after all.
The monastery, with its stone walls and echoing silence, was a world away from our bustling home. Yet, the essence of who we are, our individual quirks and the threads of our familial connection, remained constant. We brought ourselves fully to this new experience, and in doing so, we were reminded once again that the core of our being, our joys, our curiosities, our ways of relating to the world, are not bound by geography.
This weekend of firsts, set against the backdrop of a place that whispered of slowing down and appreciating the present moment, served as a gentle yet powerful reminder. Whether we are celebrating milestones in a new place, bathed in the ancient sounds of devotion, or finding ourselves in the tranquil embrace of a monastery, the fundamental truth remains: wherever we go, there we are. Our experiences shape us, certainly, but the essence of our being travels with us, coloring every new landscape with the familiar hues of our own hearts. And perhaps, that is the greatest comfort of all.
