I moved back to Alaska about a month ago. In the past, places I’ve been to have had a distinct feeling to them; something that I’ve subconsciously tagged to them. Just a mention of the name of a place and my whole body would fill with what I considered to be the essence of the place; my memories, a collection of feelings from time spent there, other intangible things. If I closed my eyes, I was there.

For example, Hawaii feels familiar, open, light and like a sigh of relief. Arizona feels like freedom, peace and the sweet warmth of knowing you belong somewhere. And Alaska?

Even as I wandered around the dirt roads on the fourth of seven cloudy days in a row after my arrival in Alaska, my eyes remembered the stubby trees, my nose remembered the wet pine smell, but my heart was unstirred. There was no ‘familiar feeling’ stuck in my being anymore. I smiled in relief.

After several years, a life-changing backpacking trip, and a lot of personal growth, I feel nothing.

Alaska used to have its own very specific feeling. I was fond of it, but there was a lot of pain when I was last here too.

The three years I spent living in Anchorage had been a personal low and the catalyst for my awakening from victimhood and into the light and freedom of elevated, intense self-awareness. (It was the second time I had to wake up; hopefully once is enough for you) Alaska still felt good then, but I remember the feeling I associated with it: anyone leaving was lucky to get out. I had felt tortured by my own suffering, and expectedly tortured by my surroundings as well. I really just wanted to get out of my personal situation but my subconscious had tagged Alaska as the scapegoat.

Imagine going to a place you’ve been and having a fresh start every time. In my experience, and research, there is a point in becoming more self-aware, less attached and at peace that your memories begin to fade. They aren’t gone, they just become less relevant and harder to recall. You stop speaking in old stories and thinking in them too. “Losing your memories” is a function of being present in every moment. Memories are the past, and so are the feelings of a place, so if you’re present and stay there, then there is no time for your mind to be visiting something old. You just get to see and experience what’s in front of you with clarity.

In a recent conversation with a patient of mine, we talked about another kind of loss: loss of self. She reported being terrified of losing who she thought she was in her own pursuit of change and freedom from suffering. Who she thought she was was essentially a collection of memories: stories, triggers, trauma, limited beliefs, and the perceptions formed from poor contact in crucial developmental moments from important figures in her life. Something that happened in the past, but was still present in her mind.

In my own life, I had become keenly aware that who I had become as a result of my ‘memories’ was not someone I enjoyed and so it was hard to understand her fear. I had been so excited to let myself out of my cage one I realized I had that option. But still, I know I’m not free of this fear. It manifests in different ways, but the root is the same. We all like to be safe and familiar is safer than new.

When you let go of yourself, your attachment to the past and the future, and your fears every day can be a clean slate for you to be you. The habit and discomfort of dwelling on your mistakes vanishes. How you look becomes less important because the future potential of someone judging you isn’t with you anymore. Taking your own side and caring for yourself becomes natural as the duality of you vs others dissolves. You just get to be.

I don’t miss having ‘the feeling of places’ or the feeling that came with the memory of ‘me’. Still, I remember how it can be exciting to feel something familiar, especially if you loved it or still do. Now, in the neutrality I’ve found, I have the opportunity to ‘rewrite’ the feeling of Alaska, but I don’t think I will; that’s not the point.

I get to be neutral about Alaska; enjoy the beauty of Mt Drum every day as I drive to work. Run the dirt roads in the light of the moon. Feel my legs numbing as I climb to a glacier. Anything I feel will be fleeting and in the moment only, and I’ll quickly return to feeling neutral; I won’t need to collect them for later. In those moments the awe will be genuine. That’s a beautiful thing.