The Place That Was Never Invented
Take a ride and see where this one takes you... heads and tales.
Read or listen… jump in when you're ready and see where this takes you.
Sometimes I think about going someplace I’ve never been before. I remember when I was a kid and my parents would take us out to dinner at a place someone told my mom was supposed to be good.
We’d be driving for a long time. My dad never asked for directions, and there weren’t a lot of places to stop, even if he wanted to.
I just took a nap… but it was much longer than my brother could tolerate.
He called it “The place that was never invented” because sometimes we couldn’t find it, or when we finally arrived, we discovered it was out of business. Sometimes it was okay, but as my mom would say, “It was nothing to write home about.”
My brother was a little more critical in his review, even before entering the premises. He didn’t think it was worthy of his presence unless the place had a lot of expensive cars in the parking lot.
You know, those really long ones that looked like canoes with fins, or were named after a famous president who was shot in a theatre. Occasionally there would be a small one squeezed in between that looked like a spaceship inside and acted like it owned the place.
They really didn’t fit as there was no room for the kids. Must have been someone who got lost or lived there already.
My brother thought those were pretty neat. That fit as he wasn’t old enough to drive, but he had a mind of his own and didn’t want anyone telling him what to do. My parents didn’t seem to mind at first, but when they did get upset, they didn’t know what to do and left the room.
I think that made him even more angry. But in my mind, that was just par for the course. I loved my brother, and in some ways I thought he was pretty cool… but he was difficult to be with at times. You just didn't cross him.
Eventually, he got hungry and made his grand entrance, my mom pulling the waitress aside to get him some food. It was almost like she was afraid he would die in that incubator he needed as a newborn if she didn’t feed him.
I guess it was his first place that was never invented. Thank God.
I was just grateful to be there with my family and didn’t really think about much else at the time. The price was right… but I paid for it later when I got home. My brother made sure of that.
Sad to say, he paid for it in his own way. His body kept the score. He died before his time… and no one could save him.
Funny how that works. Not really a joke... pretty tragic to say the least. He never saw it coming, even though many others did—a big blind spot, I guess. We all have them, especially when it comes to our health.
The mind tries to outsmart the body but never really wins in the end. We fool ourselves and try not to think about it… Instead, we start looking for another place that was never invented.
I still like exploring new places... but I’m not afraid to ask for directions if I need a little help or get lost. Well… not always, as my wife can attest. I really enjoy going back to some of the old ones too. Just remembering those special moments... even the painful ones.
Yeah, I’ve learned a lot and have changed a bit over the years. More careful about what I put in my body. Not just wolfing down my standard burger and fries. I don’t sleep as much anymore… and tend to think about what happened before and after… and between the bites.
Yeah, I’m sure you can imagine what that was like even if you weren’t there. Each time I go back, it’s a little different. Sometimes I even throw in a chocolate shake. But that doesn’t digest all that well these days.
To my brother, it was always the place that was never invented, but for me, it’s the place I want to remember. It's my museum of you where I felt invisible but also held.
You might remember. We’ve been there before. Heads and tails, take your pick. Both are always in the room—the painful truth, so to speak.
You know... it's the light of invisibility. It’s becoming my regular now. That’s my Core Self… the person I was always meant to be. I’m just curious… and welcome the pain in the room as something to learn from.
I’ve learned to slow down and appreciate the moment—not to keep hiding or running like I used to. Now it informs who I am and where I go next.
I hope you‘re leading from your Core Self… at least thinking about it a little more. Not living in the fear or the false promises of those who act tough on the outside, but are just little kids who had a hard time growing up. You know, those kids who scream and stomp their feet until they get what they want.
Not really getting attention in the way they truly deserve… like my dear brother.
See you on the road at the place each of us invented. You never know what you're going to find along the way… Maybe the person you’ve been looking for all along. It's not just what you feel when you get there, but what you notice along the way.
Just splash a little water on your face, or slick back your hair and smile when you look in the mirror. Don’t be surprised if you remember the place that was always there… and do a little shake or two.
Trying different kinds of food makes life interesting. But it’s important to make sure the restaurant is open for business, and you have a good map inside and between.
My dad always told me, “Don’t give up when things get hard, as the place you need to go might be just around the corner.” He went through some real disasters in his life, but he kept driving… even when he was only halfway there.
I guess I learned to stand strong and together, no matter what happens. Keep dancing. You’ll get there eventually. We’re getting pretty close. But don’t blink or fall asleep. You don’t want to miss it. Nice to know that someone else can take the wheel for a while if you want to take a nap.
But truth be told, we still know who we are even if we get lost occasionally. And don’t worry if that restaurant is out of business, I’m sure there’s another one down the road that’s even better. You’ll find it.
Or maybe you’ll just stay home and eat a peanut butter and honey sandwich on some cinnamon raisin bread… and throw a little wood on the fire to keep you warm. Appreciating the place and people at your side who mean the most.
Always good to turn on a little music and dance, too.
If you have a moment, you might enjoy a little ride with Harry into the past to help you find your way… or stay on the path you’re already on and notice what that’s like.
Don’t worry... he might be flying high, but he still knows how to bring us back home. Life is full of heads and tails—or as Harry says, “Heads & Tales.” You know, those stories that stick in our heads and hearts.
Sometimes they’re a little longer and wigglier than expected. Just different—like Harry… and maybe someone else close to your heart who likes to tell stories.
The most exciting part is that you never really know who you’ll meet along the way… But you’ll know when you get there.
Always good to try something new. But feel free to ask for directions before you get lost.
In the end, just keep moving. You don’t want to be late for dinner… Me too.
Dedication: To Harry Chapin and my brother, Ken—both of whom died way before their time. And to all those on this journey of heart, moving from room to room, remembering themselves—and who we are together, even when we feel alone or lost in a crowd… or don’t hear so well anymore.
Gratitude: With appreciation for those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine in return. Here’s to all of you… raising my can of ōl brew as we sit together once again.
Confidentiality note: This piece was inspired by someone close to my heart, but is a composite of many people I know—inside and outside of therapy. Any resemblance to your own life or our shared experience is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? You’re welcome to reach me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close… or long to be closer to.
Challenge: Notice your growing edge and hang out there a bit. See what you notice and share it with someone close to heart. Sprinkle in a little Marc if you need it. Flip a coin.
About me: Besides being a writer, Marc Cecil is a doctoral-level licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. An experienced psychotherapist, supervisor, consultant, and teacher, Marc uses an integrated experiential model called Core Self Integration Therapy (CSIT)—grounded in our capacity for adaptive change—to help people heal from complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma. Some refer to it as Elephant Work—standing solidly in the healing power of accompaniment.
Dr. Cecil lives in Vermont near the shores of Lake Bomoseen, where his heartfelt stories and images of connection arise from the light of invisibility—bringing life to therapy and therapy to life.
Stay tuned for more—as this living model continues to grow—with self-compassion leading the way around the world… and back home.
Address and phone: 65 North Main Street, Rutland, Vermont 05701, USA, +1 802-236-9512.