331: The Landscape You Grew Up In (Arundhati Roy)

                “I think the kind of landscape that you grew up in, it lives with you. I don’t think it’s true of people who’ve grown up in cities so much; you may love a building, but I don’t think that you can love it in the way that you love a tree or a river or the colour of the earth; it’s a different kind of love.” -Arundhati Roy

                I think love, for me, usually includes an embrace of a so much beyond my control. Landscapes are wonderful at reminding me how rich and complex and interwoven all those beyonds really are. Continents drifting and hills weathering away; moles digging and ants following their pheromone scents; trees dancing; a sparrow weaving through the branches. Look, look, look. Or run your hand over the tree’s bark, and feel. Or listen to the creek gathering. There’s a moment when I stop wondering what to do with all this. When I sit at the foot of a free and feel all this swirling apart, brown leaves blowing, and swirling together.
                For me that’s a nice reminder about loving people, too. I spent last night with several dear friends and a few friends I know less well. There were moments of hilarious laughter, moments of connection, and moments when I tried to figure out how I fit next to this person I just haven’t talked to that much. Maybe fit is a funny term. Maybe you fit in a landscape, but you also run across it, sit inside it, are awed by it. I think I love the unknowing. The swirl at the edge of me and you and this, and that interweaving current is such a big part of the so much I’m thankful for.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s