Places can become part of us, can imprint themselves on the soul like people we have loved. Because every place is part of a larger landscape, a cell in the body of the world, to fall in love with any one place — to contact its beckoning beauty, its vulnerability, its variousness — is to come to love the world itself more deeply. — Maria Popova.
Reading Maria’s words gave me pause. I certainly have deep affection for NC’s beaches and mountains, but I hadn’t thought of my liking as “an imprint on my soul.” But then again the mere whisper of the beach at Pawleys produces a craving much greater than may love for BBQ ribs. As living breathing creatures, it is hard to imagine falling in love with what we at first consider to be an immovable place. But on second thought, each place is evolving some slower than others. Even the Grand Canyon is still changing.
It’s true that we often categorize our feelings for places as “liking.” But what Maria suggests, and what I experience with Pawleys hints at, is a connection that transcends, the superficial. An “imprint on the soul” implies that a place doesn’t just reside in our memories or photo albums; it becomes a part of our very identity, shaping our inner landscape as much as it exists in the outer world. This isn’t a passive appreciation, but an active, almost reciprocal relationship where the place leaves its mark on us, and we, in turn, contribute to its story through our presence and affection.
For me, the “mere whisper” of Pawleys producing a craving “much greater than my love for BBQ ribs” suggests a fundamental need, a deep-seated longing that goes beyond simple pleasure. It’s as if my soul recognizes a resonance, a sense of belonging or profound peace, tied to that specific stretch of the Carolinas. Perhaps it’s the unique combination of the salty air, the rhythm of the waves, the particular quality of light, or the memories forged there that have woven themselves into the fabric of my being. This isn’t just a place I like to visit; it’s a place my spirit yearns for, a touchstone that grounds me.
As to places evolving, while we might initially perceive them as static and “immovable,” the truth is that every landscape, from the most ancient mountain range to the most fleeting sand dune, is in a constant state of flux. The Grand Canyon, a symbol of geological permanence, is indeed still being sculpted by wind and water, time and erosion. This dynamism means that our relationship with a place is never truly fixed; it’s an ongoing dialogue with something alive and ever-changing. We witness its resilience, its subtle transformations, its enduring presence despite the shifts. This mirrors our own lives, which are also in a state of continuous evolution. Perhaps it’s this shared journey of change, this quiet acknowledgment of growth and decay, that allows us to truly fall in love with a place, seeing it not as a backdrop, but as a fellow traveler on the path of existence.
Ultimately, to feel such a profound connection to a specific location—to truly allow its beauty, vulnerability, and variousness to seep into your soul—is to expand your capacity for love and appreciation for the entire intricate, living tapestry of the world.
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