I recently came across a review of Why Old Places Matter: How Historic Places Affect Our Identity and Well-Being by Thompson Mayes. My wife, Suzy, has always been a staunch believer in the preservation of historic buildings—the way a city’s soul is often etched into its oldest stone and timber—so I’ll likely get the book for her.
While the review made the entire work sound compelling, I found myself anchored to a single observation by the reviewer, Maureen Richmond. She noted that Mayes “brings to the reader’s attention the salient fact that persons deprived of heritage and place feel lost, without moorings.”
That word—moorings—struck a chord.
Suzy and I are not vagabonds, yet our lives have been defined by several major geographic shifts. We moved from the intensity of Law School to Little Rock, then into the fast-paced orbit of D.C., and now we have called Charlotte home for over fifteen years.
I give Suzy full credit for the “dock-work” of our lives. In every city, she helped us establish the moorings that kept us from drifting. Because of her, we didn’t just pass through these cities; we became part of them. We cultivated lifetime friends and forged a sense of shared heritage in each location. I’ve learned that even a place as transient as Washington, D.C., can become a true “place”—a site of deep roots and lasting connections—if you are willing to cast a line.
When we moved to Charlotte, I’ll admit I was worried. I feared we had “used up our rope,” that perhaps the human heart only has so many miles of line to give before it runs out. But I was wrong. Instead of stretching thin, our rope seemingly grew; we are now fully grounded here, tied to this community by a decade and a half of shared history.
As we move through the season of Lent, considering one’s sense of place is a profound spiritual exercise. Lent is often associated with the wilderness—a place of wandering—but even the Israelites carried their heritage with them in the Tabernacle. They were moving, but they were not unmoored.
This season, I invite you to talk to God about the “map” of your life. Reflect on how you got to where you are. What is it that draws you to your current corner of the world? Or, if you feel adrift, what is the “other place” your soul is longing for?
It is perfectly okay to move around—to be a traveler in this life—but there is a spiritual cost to moving without “soaking it in.” To be truly healthy, we must keep our ties. We must tend to our moorings, ensuring that wherever we stand, we are not just occupying space, but inhabiting a home.
Whether it is a historic building or a long-term friendship, we preserve what we love. And in doing so, we find that we ourselves are preserved.
I completely agree.
Thanks David. I hope you had a Happy Easter!