I listened to this TED Talk by Elizabeth Gilbert of the Eat, Pray, Love fame and what she articulated resonated with me. She talks about how she’s found her home through her writing. Because of this torch, failing is inconsequential. She is not wedded to an outcome, but finds devotion in the process. In this piece she defines home: “Your home is whatever in this world you love more than you love yourself. So that might be creativity, it might be family, it might be invention, adventure, faith, service, it might be raising corgis, I don’t know, your home is that thing to which you can dedicate your energies with such singular devotion that the ultimate results become inconsequential.”
For the last twenty years of my life, I’ve written in some form. Whether it was a thesis for my English literature class or short-stories for my creative writing course or an appellate brief for a client, words thread my life together. Only in the last few years, I’ve discovered how writing exacts a comfort that I cannot find anywhere else. After my father’s passing five years ago, I plunged into a deep canyon of sadness. I could not figure out my grief. Others tried to console, but their good-intentioned words lacked a texture that I needed. Instead, I started writing again to excavate my emotions and understand the complexities of witnessing a parent passing away. But I learned something as I started exploring writing again. It became more than just finding a way to channel my grief, but discovering a way to feel at home again.
For so long, I defined home linearly. Home centered on geography – where your family lived or where you came from or where you spent a set number of years. When I married and had my daughter, the definition of home evolved to include more people, to other geographical places, but when my father passed, I needed to redefine home again. This is where writing became a safe place to return. Over the last few years, writing in this space or in my memoir, helped me navigate and reconfigure a new map. Isn’t this what we are constantly doing? Aren’t we all trying to find a place to feel home or call home? After reviewing pieces that I’ve written here, a large part of my focus centers on home. What it was or what it is becoming, or how I am trying to reconstruct it based on what is in my now. Through all these explorations, one constant remains: I am writing.
Writing is my one safe place. That safe place is what we are all looking for.
Image: “Pen and Paper” by Dinuraj K via Flickr.
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
Writing is cathartic; it it that safe haven of our core no one is allowed entry unless we invite them.
That’s what I love about it, Susan. You can choose to write and keep it to yourself or offer it to others. Ultimately, the choice is yours.
Yes! Writing is home! Beautifully said, Rudri.
Thanks, Ayala. It is a perfect place to recharge, contemplate and find comfort.
I really agree. I went through a five year dry spell and it was terrible on my self-esteem, my anxiety, and my sense of safety.
It’s actually why I started a blog – to ground myself “home.” And this was also after two cross country moves, so it was grounding and home-like in so many ways.
What an experience, Tamara. So glad that you were able to rediscover home through your words.
Isn’t that so true. Sometimes safety isn’t necessarily a place. Thanks for being brave and vulnerable enough to share your experiences. Great post!
Welcome Elizabeth!
Glad you enjoyed my different take on finding a “place.” I’ve learned to carve out a places of “safety” that work for me. I think that is important in trying to find some internal peace.
What we consider “home” is more than a geographical place. I never really thought about home in a different context, while I often wrestle with where I belong. I love writing, especially poetry, but as a perfectionist, failing always feels consequential. Sometimes, the desire for perfection stands in the way of that which I feel most passionate about. This essay gives me a different perspective – something I can almost always benefit from.
I admire how openly you share yourself in your writing, while also giving me new ideas.
I love TED Talks 🙂
Thanks, Robin, for the generous comment.
I’ve been rethinking home ever since my father passed away. Home always centered on geography for me and when I lost that footing, I began to panic. Expanding my definition to explore less traditional notions of home helped to pinpoint places where I felt the most comfort. Writing and reading are definite places where I can find solitude, a characteristic that I deem important in shaping my personal safe place.
Glad the post resonated with you, Robin. Thanks for adding to the discussion.
What a beautiful post, Rudri. I’m so glad you turned to writing. I drew, read, and wrote a lot as a child to escape from my reality and I think our bodies must instinctively search for that safe home. And the amazing thing about writing is that it is not static – not only do we begin to heal but we grow and learn more and more about ourselves and our relationship to the world.