Belonging Only to Myself
Beginning to write the next book, and taking inspiration from the very original voice of Rebecca Serle.
The grass was wet through my shoes, and the scents were varied: minty and onion and a scent that wrinkled my nose. And then there was the scent of soil and of pine and I thought about how pine is my favorite scent, and when I walk under a pine tree, or on a carpet of pine needles, nothing can get to me, as if I am home.
Once, I tasted a pine-based beer in the Scottish Highlands. It was delicious. I was there for a month and I looked for it in the stores to no avail. So I went on the company’s website and ordered a case to be shipped and I drank the cool-necked glass bottle with something close to calm.
I came to a fountain empty of water. I’d been there before. Once, I let my son, who was about 10 at the time, climb into the water and wade around. He had a fever and it was late summer and his siblings had gone with their father to a wedding out of town. He was stuck behind with some unnameable illness, and so I let him frolic in a fountain that really isn’t made for people to climb into.
I remember how freeing that felt, for him and for me. Doing something you’re not supposed to do but with the buzz-thrill of reverence for the rules that stops you, usually, from doing it.
This time, I was following a group on a path on a Friday morning, “walking toward Shabbat.” It was a Jewish environmental walk in a park I am familiar with and yet they went a different way than I usually go and so I saw it differently. Maybe I was different in that moment.
Even though I am a marketing expert, I have a hard time marketing me. A friend in the same field asked the other day what I want to be known for.
“Strong Jewish identity and community-building,” I said.
“Then that’s what you should write about in your marketing messages,” she said.
Is it that easy? I suppose it is. I think that’s what I would tell any client. What do you want to be known for? Then put that out there under your brand.
Yes, it makes sense. Why do so many of us—women authors, I’m talking about—face this block of not being able to skillfully talk about ourselves without screaming, “Buy my books!”???
Because we’re taught from the youngest age not to be boastful, selfish, self-centered. Those are not characteristics for little girls raised in the 1970s and 1980s.
Think of others. Always put others first. Don’t be too big for your britches. (Well, size is another conversation entirely.)
The other day I was thinking that I’m not sure I fit anywhere. Except maybe with a few well-chosen people. No big group, no always-been-part-of-something.
Don’t get me wrong. I have lots of friends, and several communities I call my own.
The Jewish community is one of them—more specifically, the proudly Jewish, ritual-focused, progressive-but-observant community. That was the source of my Friday walk, and I wrapped the Jewish community into my recent book launch, which made it even more fulfilling than a signing at a store.
Gathering in the tent at my synagogue, hearing from friends and colleagues who advocate for Jewish environmental values, and being close to the earth and finding inspiration for that in ancient sources—perfect flow, in my humble opinion.
It felt like home, combining writing and Judaism. The values swirling, appreciation for this beautiful earth, alongside hope and optimism and belief in an eternal ancient people. These days, hope and optimism are hard to come by, but they save me, believing the world is good at its core, and most people, too.
Another one of my communities is the writer community—and when I say this, I am thinking of writers who believe there is enough to go around, that everyone’s book can be a success, so we support one another without question.
The Women Fiction Writers Association is one source for that. Wow, the authors I’ve met there are the real deal, the nicest people around, who cheer each other on. I’ve known competitive women so much in my life, and men who wanted to keep women down, and to be at this age and people are lifting each other up is just the biggest gift.
I have another community, to, the people-who-live-in-Michigan—I’ve traveled the world and been to amazing places, but I am so glad to live where I live.
There’s a Detroit subset to this Michigan identity, this scrappy, we-will-always-rise-again, great-sports-teams-even-when-they-suck Motor City Motown nobody-beats-Detroit identity.
And Michigan—Great Lakes state, the Mitten—I love being from here. It’s a provincial place with beautiful landscape and water in every direction. And the views—wow, the views! Ever climbed Sleeping Bear Dunes or driven out to the edge of Old Mission Peninsula? I have and it’s like God is touching the earth at those moments.
I’m making my argument for not fitting anywhere, and I think I’m losing. Or maybe what I’m saying is that I fit with myself, and the journey of life is really about getting THERE. To the place where you accept who you are and you stop trying to fit into other people’s definitions of who you should be.
When I was in high school, I had friends in every clique but was never in one. I can strike up a conversation with almost anyone, anywhere.
I’m curious about people. I want to understand, to learn, to listen. Maybe this is why I’ve never been “in” any one group.
And I’m saying I fit with myself, tasting this vast world but always coming home to the quiet garden behind my old house, with the sound of the highway like a river outside my window.
I’ve started writing the next book, you know. It’s a dual-timeline story about best friends who knew each other in another very different life, too. Inspired by my best friend Katie and our soul-sister friendship.
I finished reading an amazing book the other day, Rebecca Serle’s In Five Years. I’d thought I was reading a love story and I was, in a way, but it wasn’t the kind of romantic love story I had expected it to be.
In it, one character says, “Love doesn’t need a future.” Meaning, love is right now, and it is enough. It doesn’t depend on forever or tomorrow, even.
I’m pretty sure it doesn’t depend on belonging or fitting in or pleasing someone else. I’m trying to accept that. I’m trying to stop pleasing, and start writing more, listening to my voice above all others.
Thanks for reading Lynne Golodner’s Substack, A Look in the Mirror. If you like what you read here, please share it with others who might find it valuable, and consider becoming a paid subscriber. And always, I’d love to hear from you! Leave a comment or post a note. Love to all.
Love this and YOU!