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Musings by Bess Chosak
What Cannot Be Stolen
Recently, my partner, Jim, and I traveled "back home" to Indiana so I could attend my 66th high school reunion. I looked forward to reconnecting with friends and classmates I hadn't seen in many years. But before the reunion even began, nostalgia gave way to shock. After parking the car, we took a walk through a familiar cemetery. When we returned, we found a window smashed and my purse stolen. Along with it went my driver's license, credit cards, and cellphone.
In an instant, the comfort of being back in familiar surroundings was replaced by a profound sense of violation and disorientation. Hours were spent buying a new phone, canceling credit cards, and trying to restore what had been lost. More unsettling than the inconvenience was realizing how completely my phone had become my connection to everyday life. I no longer knew anyone's phone number by heart. An image came to me: I was standing alone in the middle of a field of tall grasses, with no familiar sights or sounds. Where am I? I wondered. Am I still connected?
The reunion itself deepened those feelings. I had imagined I was returning simply to revisit old friends and memories. Yet, as my plane lifted off for home, I realized I had really gone there to say goodbye. I will likely never make that journey again. I wasn't simply revisiting my past—I was gently releasing it.
Since returning home, I have reflected on why this experience unsettled me so deeply. Perhaps it is because, as we grow older, life's unexpected disruptions seem to come with increasing frequency. A fall, a frightening diagnosis, a devastating phone call, or unsettling events in the larger world can suddenly leave us asking, Where in the world am I?
What keeps us grounded when everything familiar shifts? Certainly, the people we love are among our strongest connections. Knowing help is nearby is reassuring. But what if, for a moment, none of those things is available? What remains when we find ourselves alone in that field of tall grasses?
Each of us has a different answer. For some, it is faith. For others, optimism, trust, or hard-earned resilience. For me, it is my connection to Creation—to the mystery and wholeness of life itself. Every breath reminds me that I belong to something larger than my immediate circumstances. That connection cannot be stolen with a purse or lost with a cellphone. In an unexpected way, I had to "go home again" to remember that essential truth. Some of our deepest connections are beyond the reach of thieves. They remain with us, quietly sustaining us, no matter where we find ourselves.
Jim Greenberg, President EOLCC
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