“All that is holding us together is stories and compassion”

Barry Lopez

“The Overly Sensitive Child,” Chapter Two in Anne Lamott’s Stitches: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope, and Repair speaks to the parts of me that never really fit in as a child. As Lamott suggests, “I rarely felt at home as a child, nor did I feel earth was my real home.” Like Lamott, I loved reading and writing. I also loved to sing. Lamott explains,

“When you love something like reading – or drawing or music or nature -it surrounds you with a sense of connection to something great. If you are lucky to know this then your search for meaning involves whatever that Something is. It is that alchemical blend of affinity and focus that takes us to a place within that feels as close as we ever get to “home.” It’s like pulling in to our own train station after a long trip – joy, relief, a pleasant exhaustion.”

I have known my something for a long time. That is a real blessing in a life in which hope’s engine sometimes needs spark plugs. My something is words. The books I read. The questions I ask. The details I describe. The stories I listen to and tell. The book reports, papers, thesis, dissertation, blog posts, and books I complete in my effort to connect with the world. Words satisfy my curiosity. My something is words.

I find “home” in words. My life has been a lot about finding “home,” appreciating “home,” sharing stories of “home,” making peace with “home,” falling in love with “home.” Wherever I live, “home” lives in words. Even as I child I knew the “alchemical blend of affinity and focus” that words provided. “Home” was my notebook filled with stories and poems and whatever book I was reading. Today, words connect me to myself and others like a North Star guides us home.