Some road trips do more than move your body from one city to another. They tug open old doors you thought were closed. They stir the versions of you who once lived quietly beneath the present moment. That was the drive to Alameda. A six a.m. freeway, mushroom coffee warming my hands, and a slow unspooling of stories I did not plan to revisit. It felt like God whispering Proverbs 20:27 over my shoulder, that He searches the deepest parts of a person. And honestly, that is exactly what the morning felt like. A searchlight. A gentle excavation. A reminder.
I watched a Japanese drama on my phone, but my heart was somewhere else, tracing the lines of a friendship that shaped entire chapters of my emotional life. Some memories feel like they belong to a younger version of you. Others return to show you who you have become.
Old Roads and Old Selves
Maybe it was the darkness settling over the freeway. Maybe it was the quiet between friends. Or maybe it was the unexpected gift of receiving old photos from someone who has known me better than most. Whatever it was, something loosened inside me.
I kept thinking of that C. S. Lewis quote about friendship beginning in the moment two people share a common truth. It reminded me that some connections outlast distance because they were never built on convenience. They were built on recognition. And on the drive north, I felt the weight of Ecclesiastes 3:1, that there is a season for everything, even remembering.
By the time we reached Alameda, the Bay felt familiar. That two-bedroom place we settled into carried the ordinary comforts that make shared space feel like home. Suitcases on the floor. Someone drifting off on the couch. Soft conversation from the kitchen. These small things are where community breathes.
Where the Past Meets the Present
Later, walking through Chinatown for Thanksgiving dinner, pieces of my younger self rose to the surface. The girl who wandered cities looking for stories. The girl who captured light through a lens. The girl who believed meaning lived everywhere if you paid attention.
Union Square glowed with holiday lights, but I felt something quieter inside. It reminded me of a line from poet David Whyte, who said that memory is the part of the soul that never fully leaves the places it has loved. I felt that. The old me and the current me walking side by side.
Back at the house, as I shared how my friendship with Chris began, it felt like returning to a chapter that shaped my emotional compass. I never plan these kinds of stories. Nostalgia chooses its own timing. And sometimes God brings a memory back because, as Psalm 139:5 says, He hems us in behind and before. He uses the past to clarify the present.
When I finally laid down after midnight, the day felt full. A road trip. A touch of the past. Chinatown lights. Laughter. Deep remembering. I am not the girl I once was, but she still lives inside me. And sometimes, it takes a holiday drive to remind me how far I have come and how much of her I still carry.
Soul Insights
1. Memory has its own rhythm.
The past does not visit on command. It arrives when the heart is quiet enough to receive it. On that long drive, I realized how many memories live beneath the surface simply waiting for room. When they come, they usually carry truth, not nostalgia alone. They reveal the threads God has been weaving all along.
2. Certain people become landmarks in your story.
There are friendships that define emotional seasons, and Chris has been one of mine. Not because every year was perfect but because every season was formative. When someone knows your evolution over decades, they hold a mirror to both who you were and who you are becoming.
3. A familiar place can awaken forgotten versions of you.
Walking through Chinatown, I felt echoes of a younger version of myself. Not because I missed her but because I recognized her. She still influences the choices I make, the way I see beauty, the way I move through the world. Remembering her expanded my gratitude for the journey.
4. God often uses travel to bring clarity.
Movement creates perspective. For me, driving north opened emotional space that everyday life does not always allow. It reminded me that God works in transitions. He uses ordinary moments to remind us that He has been with us in every season, as promised in Joshua 1:9.
5. Growth does not erase who you were.
I am more grounded, more spiritually aware, and more aligned than I used to be. But the younger version of me is not gone. She is simply integrated. She shaped my resilience, my creativity, my compassion. Remembering her helped me honor the path I have walked.
Final Thoughts
Sometimes a trip is just a trip. But sometimes it becomes a doorway back to the parts of you that carried you through growing pains and quiet victories. Alameda reminded me that time is not a straight line. We revisit ourselves so we can move forward with greater depth. And God is present in every memory, every mile, every moment of returning.
Your Turn
Think about the last time a place or a person reminded you of who you used to be.
What surfaced?
What did God reveal?
Write it down.
Your future self will thank you.
By the way…
While you’re here, I’d love for you to explore my book 17 Syllables of Me and visit my website, SoulPath Insights.
Thank you for taking the time to read! 🤗
© 2025 Amelie Chambord
Soul Path Insights 
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