Kevin was trying to reconnect with and impress his ex. (Yes, I’m describing a scene from This is Us.) He hurriedly walks into a New York City diner. Before talking to any of the wait staff he approaches a couple sitting in a booth. He begins by politely, yet abruptly, asking if they could move. When that doesn’t work, he goes on.

“This is a special booth,” he says.

Kevin unpacks decades of memories of a relationship that intersected with that very spot. He describes important conversations, eight grade memories, and a first kiss. He ends with, “So I really need this booth.”

—

There’s something special about place. Something even sacred about it.

Sometimes it’s about escape and freedom, but sometimes it’s about abiding and staying.

—

I had a meeting yesterday at a local Starbucks and I ran into a friend with her husband and two year old. I told the person I was meeting that I’ve known that friend since middle school.

“Wow, you really lived your whole life here, haven’t you?”

Yes, I suppose that is true.

—

This isn’t everyone’s story, but this is mine.

I was driving across town the other day, on both highways and surface streets. I began to notice road signs and exits. A scattered mix of memories came to mind. The ground in this town, my hometown, pulses memories of different eras. At a simple stop at an intersection, I can slide from decade to decade in the blink of an eye.

As I drive, my visual senses are on full alert. People have moved, businesses built, and roads expanded, but the place, the ground is the same. Something triggers these memories as I drive. My surroundings tell stories of when I took these roads and what car I drove. A snapshot of different seasons.

Some of these streets are where I learned to drive, others are commutes from jobs, churches, and college. Roads where I almost or did get into an accident. Roads where God spoke to me clearly. Roads where I remember singing loudly to Dashboard Confessional and Jimmy Eat World. These roads of my hometown are like veins, pulsing with life and connecting memories. Looking around, I can sink deep into my memories. I can feel the past.

This ground aches of these memories.

Memories of mine.
Memories of yesterdays.
And others with hope of tomorrow.

When you’ve been in a place for awhile and commit to permanence, something happens. Things don’t go away. You’ll see places and people of your past. My life may be segmented in seasons, but the roads and places around me criss-cross and overlap. Borders have been so blurred as I’ve been living and driving and calling the same area home for decades now. It’s beautiful to me. And a bit redemptive in a way.

There’s something magical about the town Radiator Springs in Cars. I love how the neon lights turn back on and they stroll the streets of their hometown reliving the town’s glory days. But what’s even better is when they stay longer and transform their city, bringing new life and renewal, bringing new memories to places of the past. The place that once only held memories of yesterday, now also holds hope of tomorrow.

I believe place is significant in all of our stories. This is how place is significant in mine. How is it significant in yours?