On Favorite Places

It is often said that life is a journey, not a destination. Mostly I agree with this, but I also believe that from time to time, we have to arrive somewhere. We have to land on some places that we can call our own, places that hold meaning and succor for us, where we can put our feet up, so to speak. What I have discovered is that when we change, our places change also. Many years ago one of my favorites was, surprisingly, a well-cared-for cemetery. It had great shade trees, quiet benches, and next to no one was ever around. All the grave sites were back on the hillsides and out of view. The only thing that suggested it was a last resting place was an occasional, tiny crypt that sported a family name. In those days I needed a very quiet escape where I could empty out my confusions, no questions asked, in a non-resistant surrounding.

My needs are different...

Today my needs are different, and so are my places. They now allow for people on hand…a bay-side park with small boats on the water, a few kids and dogs chasing balls, a coffee shop with many familiar faces, smells and tastes that welcome and call up memories of a recent past.

We are always received...

Favorite places should act like old friends, I think, places that simply await, always giving their consistent gifts and asking for nothing. We can bring all of ourselves or none of them, and yet we are always received.

A centering piece of ground...

A favorite place can be a touchstone, a centering piece of ground that allows us to re-focus and let memories or items surface that help and do not harm, a place for gathering ourselves once more, ready to slip into the stream that contains our lives.

...into the fray once more...

Our places actually can talk to us, if we will listen. No one else can hear their silent whispers…nor should they…but we can. They bring welcome; they may startle; they stand ready…and they see us off into the fray once more.

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