This Is A Good Place

The other day, without much thought, my status on Facebook became “This is a good place.” It is. Few words. Much involved.

The place where I write this. This is a good place. A nook in my family room. A small built-in desk of knotty pine, designed in the ’50s before laptops. Right by the fireplace. It’s a good place for a most excellent dog to nap underneath, leaving me scarce little room  for my feet and legs. First Stu. Elmo when he got old. Now Henry.

The place where I live. This is a good place. This ramshackle shack in Sherwood Forest. There’s a reason this place is called a forest, which we all realize all over again every fall. Charlotte. Shiny, new, vibrant and vibrating. A great place to start your business. A great place to be in business for nearly twenty years.

This place where I live in this country. North Carolina. This is a good place. Mountains. Beach. Charlotte. Tomorrow I drive about three easy hours for a conference in Charleston. In the low country. A place of pungent plough mud, stories and shrimp and grits. It will be a good place to be a couple of days. Then back home to Charlotte. The place where I belong right now.

This place where I am personally. This is a good place. I’ve never been to a place like it, but I find it fine. I no longer worry if I find myself thinking it’s not a good place. Things change soon enough, and then I find myself in a different place. Carole King was right. These are the good old days.

This place where my marriage is. This is a good place. We’ve never been in this place, either. The place we are in 2011 is different than the place we were in 1984. Aside from our place in 1984 being New York and in 2011 being North Carolina. And we’ve been to all kinds of different places, with hands firmly clasped. In every single place we found ourselves. My husband’s strong hand is a good place.

The place where I am as a writer. It’s a good place. Work behind me that I’m proud of. Work ahead of me that I’m eager for. Work that fills me up and wears me out. A blank page that constantly changes. A place with room enough to be anxious, excited, determined and grounded all at once. It’s a place I hope to stay for a while.

Are there still painful places? Of course. I just choose not to dwell there right now. But if a painful place is where you are right now, know my heart is wrenched for you. I could join you tomorrow. Or in the next moment. I understand that.

But right now, yes. This is a good place. I’m grateful. I’m thankful. I’m mindful. And I’m here.


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