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landscape bordered by plywood walls. Nothing remained of my former home except a couple of scattered rocks. Even the tree my father planted as a child was gone. Not a root was left for me to dig up and take home.

We wandered down to the river just a couple blocks away where friends and I would sit on the abandoned docks watching the river rat's play and the green and foamy water of the East River slap against the shore. Even here time had moved on and the old pilings mostly demolished to instead form a nice walkway. A park had been constructed and the dock where we sat held equipment. The old Steinway factory building was still there and the other familiar factory buildings still dotted the landscape. The memories and stories so anchored to a place were now dug up and rearranged. The flattened landscape was like experiencing the death of my parents all over again. Soon enough something new will be built on the ruins and other people will come, live and dream and create new memories.

Who am I? Where does the story of who I am live? I thought it resided in the wood and stone of an old building. Now un-tethered I struggle a bit to find my bearings.

Here I am wobbly, questioning and unsure of my place in the world.

Left without a familiar story frees me to explore what can now frame my life. What can one create when faced with a clean slate? We can be distracted by what others want us to believe about ourselves. Media influences us. Family can encourage or distract us. But at the end of the day it is up to each of us to decide the kind of life we want. My memory sustains me but it is the future that inspires me.

Learn more about this author, Sandra Schubert.
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