A Sense of Place

"Up in this air you breathed easily, drawing in a vital assurance and lightness of heart. In the highlands you woke up in the morning and thought: Here I am, where I ought to be.”  -- Isak Dinesen, Out of Africa

Nairobi-Nanyuki circa 1950s "Women Only" Photo Iian Mulligan

I haven't ever yet had that feeling. I have lived decades in places: the Midwest, the Southwest, and now the Northwest. I have been to the beaches on East and West coasts-- flat, hot Mexican beaches and foggy, rocky beaches. I've been to high and cool mountain pine tops, and red martian ocean beds of the painted desert. I've been atop the wheeling Space Needle and ancient serpentine castle towers. I've been on grasslands so wide I could see the lights of other cities, and down in caverns with dripping stalactites. I have been to London and its surrounding cities in the countryside. I've been to Oaxaca City with its Old World architecture and nightly music in the plaza.

I've been in four star modern restaurants with exclusive wine lists. I've been in a kitchen hut that had a dirt floor, open pit fire for a range, and grindstones for corn. I've been on a stage in front of a crowd and in the wilderness, miles from anywhere named. I've had a restless foot, but also have lived long enough to have recovered from injuries or illness in the confines of my room or house for weeks, and learned how to be content with both an unsettled and a severely settled existence.

There are so many places I haven't been. I'm not a worldly traveler by any stretch. I loved most of those places for being just what they were, and enjoyed all that they offered openly or was enchanted by their quiet allure. But I have yet to feel, "yes, this is where I ought to be."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=roPQ_M3yJTA&spfreload=10

Perhaps I haven't yet stepped onto the right place. Or perhaps there isn't a place I ought to be. If I really am honest, I think I feel like my most recognizable self when I am in between destinations. I don't know how long that sense of self would last if that were a constant way of life.

But there is one time that stands out to me as one of the lightest and most liberating. Under wide open Oklahoma skies, my mother's red truck needed a rest, and so we parked under a lone shade tree by the road and had our picnic lunch. We were in between Ohio, where I was known, and Arizona, where I was not. I was sixteen and my heart was rooted, but my spirit was aloft.

For now, I know that the people I love have kept me grounded. I know too, that doing what I believe to be important, no matter where that takes me, makes me feel connected to my life. If I do come upon a place that feels like home, I'll come back to it if I can, and stay. I'll also come here and tell about it. I look forward to doing both.