Refuge

It has been a very interesting week. The life changes just keep on rolling in, and I'm just trying to keep up.

That has resulted into a whole lot of stops for cinnamon tea and cinnamon scones at Barnes and Noble. I have no idea why that's so soothing, but it has to be that combination exactly.

I no longer have the luxury of predicting where I'll be next month, or maybe even next week. And I wonder if this will one day make sense. Like this weird period of upheaval is laying the groundwork for something important.

Good lord, life happens fast. And when it does, I almost always bury myself in the aisles of a bookstore, tea in hand. I have since I was little, when my mom would take me. We'd walk around the store collecting an armful of books, and read in silence while we ate a scone or a cupcake. 

In high school I would go there to do homework. Somewhere away from home, where I could take a break to browse through the magazines.

And now it's where I go, hoping to find the root of who I am. I figure maybe I'll see my eight-year-old self there, reading The Golden Compass. 

Or my sixteen-year-old self, scouring the aisles for the newest Sarah Dessen novel.

And then, like running into a good friend, I'll remember what's at my core.

Or at the very least, find a good story to accompany me while I'm busy writing my own.

What's your refuge?