…introduced me to beautiful souls who find joy in serving and who see the world for what it could be.
…taught me to fight for the underdog and break down the walls of power.
…allowed me to act as a mentor, to experience the fulfillment of knowing I could help empower others.
But my world has expanded and your walls are just too small for me now.
When we began this journey, the world was a kinder place for us. We were respected and trusted.
People felt safe with us.
I don’t feel like we’re on the same page anymore.
You once taught me to be neutral, to remove myself from the query and focus on the other person’s needs and intent.
Now I’m not so sure.
Remaining silent condemns me.
Speaking my mind crucifies me.
Damned no matter what I do.
I realize not all of this is your fault.
You didn’t start the culture wars exploding all around us.
But you did throw the kerosene.
You forgot about empathy and replaced it with righteousness and by doing so you isolated our brothers and sisters on the frontline…the ones who never lost touch with the people.
You forgot our call to represent all…
…which means understanding the drag queen who just wants to be understood and the parent desperately trying to protect their child from a rapidly changing world they no longer recognize.
…which means addressing the fear behind the hate without shutting out the hater.
I am removing myself from this equation.
Feeling slightly guilty that I leave others to fight the battles.
I hope that our separation allows us both to grow in whatever way we each need to survive.
And perhaps, someday, we will meet again. Stronger in spirit and purpose.
This post will either gain me some new fans, make some new enemies or at the very least entertain. I’m going to share a recent trip in which Eric and I traveled with his brother on a river cruise through the Netherlands and Belgium.
I recently read The Soul of Place: a Creative Writing Workbook by Linda Lappin, and it got me thinking about a concept I’ve never considered. Travel writers often talk about how certain places hold power for them. They recognize that places have a character or personality, and some places have characteristics that make them “power places.” Others talk about the “genius loci” which refers to the protective spirit of a place. Whatever you want to call it, I think it safe to assume that it’s easy for us to recognize whether or not a place “speaks” to us, but how often do we ask ourselves “why?”
The concept of “power places” or “soul places” has been written about by others, and this is my favorite explanation of it:
“Many times our power places are locations we love. They bring us a feeling of home even though we may have never actually lived there. These places are powerful because they hold space for us to relax and blossom into who we truly are.” ~Gigi Young, Moonbird
I love this concept. It resonates deep within me, as there have been places that we’ve visited where I felt transcended and others where, despite their beauty, I felt depleted. I thought I’d share my creative writing exercise with you, in case you want to ponder your own “power places.”
California redwoods near Trinidad
Where are my power places?
These are the places where I felt fully alive, empowered, completely at peace, and able to freely be myself. Simply put, I didn’t want to leave.
Faroe Islands
Trinidad, California
Salzburg, Austria & countryside
Dingle Peninsula, Ireland
Oregon Coast
San Juan Islands, Orcas Island
What do they have in common?
Once I start writing them down, a pattern begins to emerge. There are definite characteristics they all share.
With the exception of Austria, they are all coastal. And not just any kind of coastal, they are specifically rocky coastlines with cold water and rugged or remote landscapes. And while they don’t all have trees, they do have very green landscapes.
Again with the exception of Salzburg, they are all remote locations. I felt removed from the world at all of these. Even in Salzburg, I felt removed in the sense that we had stepped back in time.
They are remote but not wilderness. That’s key, because I don’t feel that same sense of safety when I’m deep in the backwoods.
The residents all seem to have a strong tie to the land and deep respect for the environment.
There is a strong sense of community; people know their neighbors.
The general pace of life is slow and unrushed but still productive. They have a good balance of work and play.
The people we met were always happy and friendly. While not as openly warm as we’re used to in Louisiana, we felt an openness to outsiders of different beliefs and customs. Even Faroe, which is the least diverse place we’ve ever been, felt genuinely welcoming. I must note, however, that I’m white and that may have made a difference. I don’t know how someone who looks different would be treated in places like Faroe Islands or Austria, but I hope it would be with the same warmth.
The majority of the residents also seem to live simple, minimalist lifestyles. Even on the Oregon coast, where you’ll see large oceanfront homes, they are built into the landscape in a way that pays tribute to the land. They aren’t ostentatious in any way.
They all have crisp sea or mountain air. No oppressive humidity, although it can get hot in some of these places.
With the exception of Austria, these places are often windy and foggy. I love the juxtaposition of storms and the calm of twilight, so it makes sense that places with muted light and temperamental weather would appeal to me.
None of them are flat. They all have some form of hills or mountains.
What are my non-power places?
While all of these are beautiful, these places didn’t leave me with the same sense of awe or completion. I have fond memories of them and took gorgeous photos, but the longer I stayed the more I felt depleted or anonymous. I was happy to visit, but I can’t see myself living there.
Sifnos, Greece was SUPER relaxing but it was also dry and lacked lush green foliage.
Any large city, where I feel crowded or surrounded by concrete, makes the list. There are cities I love to visit, like Boston or San Francisco, but I never want to stay for long.
I hate to even admit this out loud, but Arkansas, Oklahoma and Texas make this list. We visit these states because they’re close and offer good hiking, but my soul shrivels up quickly if we stay too long. Part of the reason is that I don’t feel like I fit in culturally, but it’s also a sense of being surrounded by land. I keep searching for the ocean and in Texas I feel overly exposed because of all that open space.
Again, I hate to admit this, but pretty much the entire US East Coast is a soul-sucker for me. With the exception of Maine, I’ve always felt crowded and rushed in the northeast coastal communities. Or I’ve been disappointed at the strips of over-developed condos or overly-pretentious beach communities. Maybe it’s just that the beaches are too flat. These are my personal projections, based on life experiences, so please don’t be offended if you love the East Coast. I can only be honest with myself, and who knows, maybe someday I’ll discover an east coast town that suits me.
Why does this even matter?
I teach a DIY Travel class where we talk about our travel personalities. I believe that great travel experiences come from knowing what makes you happy. Understanding on a deeper level what fills your soul with joy and inspiration and why is what sets a life-changing trip apart from a simple vacation. Like I say in the class, my time and money are limited, so I want to ensure that every trip I take is the most amazing experience possible. From this exercise, I’ve gleaned some very useful knowledge not just about my travel tastes but about myself. Places that set my soul afire are remote and temperamental, where I feel small and insignificant in a good way, where I should feel threatened by mother nature but instead feel sheltered. Hmmm…interesting correlation with my literary love interests. Mr. Rochester ring a bell? 😉
