Lily Oak Books wrote a lovely post in which this phrase, ‘I…strongly identify with the immigrant’s quest for “home” ‘ struck my heart because it’s a theme I have long pondered, this quest for home.
I imagine that some people find it quite easily, a place to call their own. A place where they belong with little effort. There were groups in my high school into which several people fit nicely into a specific slot: athelete, intellectual, cheerleader, drug addict, nerd. I fit into none of those.
There are people in the book blogging world who have carved a nice little spot around which their book blog can center: mystery, science fiction, fantasy, classics, romance. I fit into none of those.
Some blogs that I love are so erudite that I read and reread posts, searching for understanding. Or, connection to something that I’ve read. Or, I simply sit back in wonder at the beauty of the writing. My blog is not like that.
I’m starting to scratch my head about the place where I belong. It is not with the young moms who blog about fitting in reading while raising children. It is not with professors who actually teach writing. Or, literature. It is not with “chick lit” or “cozy mysteries” or current best sellers.
As usual, I am in a place of my own. Not part of a group, necessarily, but more on the fringe. It’s a place I’ve become comfortable with, most of the time.
But, I can relate to the quest for home. The place to belong.