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The Places We Belong
If we’re lucky and we pay attention, there will be times in our lives when we know we’re in the right place at the right time doing what we were meant to do.
There are moments that arrive without fanfare, yet settle into the soul like they’ve always been there — quietly announcing, this is where you belong.
I’ve had a few of these in my life. At first, they seemed like scattered stars — moments of clarity unconnected to one another. But over time, they’ve formed a constellation I now recognize as a guide. They’ve led me not only to where I am, but to what I do: helping others make meaning of their lives through storytelling and memoir-writing.
One such moment came in the mid 1970s on a misty morning in the mountains of northern Spain. I had been travelling for days, when I arrived in a lonely village seemingly forgotten by time. After a deep rest, I awoke in the morning and went for a walk along the narrow road away from the village centre. It was spring, and the air was soft. As I left the small village and began the climb out, I reached a crossroads. The mist lifted suddenly, like a veil being drawn aside. Before me: a wide valley stretching toward the horizon. Above: a snow-capped peak, wind whipping the snow from its summit like smoke. To my left, in a green meadow, I heard the soft music of cowbells. I stood still, overwhelmed. At that moment, there…
