Sacred Places

The one on connection, loss and...books.

My senior year of college, I took a class called “Sacred Places.” Of the four years of teachers and schoolwork and assignments I had, this class is one of the few that sticks out in my memory a million years later. Some of my closest friends were in the class with me, and the whole premise was that there are places in our lives that are incredibly special and unique to us — that have left an imprint on our hearts and souls for some reason or another, making them feel like our spaces, forever and always.

In the class, we talked a lot about memory and savoring the present, and really understanding the impact of our being in the world. We churned fresh cream (yes. really), and talked about carbon footprints and eating in-season, local produce, and discussed what it means to belong.

I hadn’t thought about that class in ages, until this past weekend.

Saturday, I was having one of those days where I really, really missed my mom — the kind of missing that makes it hard to breathe, and feels impossible to fix, like a bottle of water that keeps leaking no matter how many times you try to screw the top back on. I decided to do one of the few things that makes me feel like my mom’s with me, and that instantly brings with it a flood of happy memories from growing up…. I went to a bookstore. Barnes and Noble, to be exact.

My mom taught me how to read when I was really little, before I’d even started school (she thought kids were supposed to know how to read when they started kindergarten… #overachiever). It quickly became my number one hobby, and I grew up loving stories, and bringing books everywhere with me, always ready to read a la Rory Gilmore. My mom was also an avid reader, and some of our most beloved activities together centered reading and books. My childhood memories are dotted with trip after trip to our local libraries where I grew up in New York City, and visits to our favorite bookstores where we’d easily spend an hour wandering through the shelves. Now, as a motherless adult, being surrounded by books makes me feel a little bit like I’m surrounded by her. After walking into Barnes and Noble on Saturday evening, I almost burst into tears. The musty smell of the books was so familiar, so comforting, and it made me feel like I could almost pretend my mom was there with me too, just in another part of the shop, exploring a different stack.

Anyways, when I’d been in that “Sacred Places” class, I’d had to reflect and figure out what my sacred place was, at least at that time. I still remember what 18 year old me said, but I’ve since realized that you can have more than one sacred space in your lifetime. And that sacred places can be…… anything. Anywhere. Like a bookstore. It’s any place that feels meaningful for you, or that creates a sense of belonging or home or both. (And actually, maybe those two are one in the same.) It doesn’t necessarily have to be a place that you lived or even spent considerable amounts of time in. Just somewhere that grabbed your heart and never let go.

Since she’s been gone, I’ve come to realize that my mom felt a lot like home to me, no matter where I was or what I was doing. She was, in a sense, my most sacred of spaces — or at least, anywhere that she was, or that I could hear her voice. Two years after losing her and I’m still trying to figure out the ways to get that comfort, that support, that sense of home back into my life.

But hopefully I’ll (we’ll) always have bookstores.

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TGIF, friends! Sending you love and hopefully some crisp, fall air that makes you want to pull on a sweatshirt and sip some hot coffee. (SoCal friends, we’ve got….. well, not that… but maybe in a few weeks.🙃) If you’re looking for something feel-good and light, you’ve got to watch “Abbott Elementary.” I know most people have already seen it and I’m majorly late to the party, but PEOPLE! It’s like a hug in a television show. What more can you ask for?

p.s. If you liked this essay, or any past story-letters/essays, liking the post using the heart button or leaving a comment is the best way to let me know, and to help other Substack readers find this little spot on the internet. 💛

Thanks for reading,

Joelle