A Sense of Place

Did you know that in addition to our five senses, we have a sixth? It is the sense of place, an internal compass and map made by memory and spatial perception together. If you don't know where you are, you don't know who you are.

I have a friend with a broken heart. My friend is not struggling through a breakup or a divorce or a death in his family, rather he is heartbroken over the loss of his home. For decades, this man poured his heart, soul, and talents into reconstructing one of the most magical cottages in coastal New England. I know because I had the privilege of spending a few weeks there every summer when I lived in Providence.  The architectural details in this cottage are unique and museum quality. From hand-carved wall sconces to smooth gliding pocket doors to intricate moldings, this artisan supplied his vision and breathtaking talent. While working on the cottage, my friend and his family occupied the sprawling, turn-of-the-century home on the same property. What I didn't know at the time was that this place he called home was actually owned by his wife's family, and when they decided to sell, he was uprooted. Hence his broken heart.  

My friend's circumstance got me thinking about relationships, especially the relationships we all have to (and with) place, and how the loss of a home can bring about a heart-wrenching sense of displacement and dislocation. Chances are, you've inhabited more than one place in your lifetime; I know I have. I have lived the life of a gypsy, relocating every seven years or so. From the rambling farmhouse I raised my three children in, to a ski lodge in the mountains, to a Soho-style condo in a chic Rhode Island town, to my humble 800-square foot cottage, I have loved, I have inhabited deeply, the energy between all those four walls. I've poured my self into each of these dwellings, and each departure has left me a little tender-hearted. My brother, on the other hand, has only known one place for nearly forty years. When he and his wife married, they began their life in an apartment, but soon moved into a new colonial high up on a rural hill. As his wife lays in a medically-induced Covid coma, I can only imagine the thoughts running through his head around home, this place where they have lived, loved, and raised their only child, my nephew.  

As we embark on a new year of discoveries, look around. Take a moment to soak in, to see, to appreciate your sense of place. Give thanks for the minutes, the hours, the days, weeks and years that you get to be alive in this place that is shaping you, making you who you are, even when you're not looking. And then, if you have a minute, listen to Miranda Lambert's song, The House That Built Me.(https://bit.ly/3pOGZUz)