I'm Not Going Home

One of the great insights of the 20th Century was Thomas Wolfe’s observation that You Can’t Go Home Again. Much in the vein of Heraclitus’ ancient observation that “you cannot step twice into the same river,” both men recognized that the only true constant in the universe is change. Nothing remains the same. So, when I talk about returning to Colorado it is with the understanding that it is not the same place I left twenty-six years ago. Denver, my birthplace, is certainly not the overgrown cow town it was sixty years ago. Arvada, where I was raised, has been absorbed into the metropolitan area and bears virtually no resemblance to the sleepy little town we moved to in 1955. Suffice it to say that Fort Collins is in Colorado. I’m finding that the process of retirement calls into question many aspects of my life, particularly what I’ve done with it. In earlier posts I explained that the decision to move to Flagstaff, Arizona in 1984 was prompted by my desire to be recognized as my own person instead of just my prominent father’s son. It is not going to be a triumphant return home at the end of this summer. I’ve done many things and can only hope that some of them were done well. Nonetheless, it will be a modest—actually meek—blending into the population of one of the most highly rated cities in the country. I’ll not be lecturing at the university. I’ll not be preaching from any pulpit. I will be hoping that my future neighbors don’t find me too repulsive and may be kind enough to let me recycle their aluminum cans in order to pay health insurance premiums.