“Our consciousness rarely registers the beginning of a growth within us any more than without us: There have been many circulations of the sap before we detect even the smallest sign of the bud,”

—George Eliot, Silas Marner

 I don’t remember how I discovered her writings, perhaps in my creative writing class in high school, but as a teenager, I was attracted to the romance of her life. She, a quiet, shy and studious girl, fell in love with dashing aviator (and “America’s most eligible bachelor”) Charles Lindbergh. Anne left behind her more privileged and intellectual background and embraced the action-filled life Charles lived. From the moment they announced their engagement, the media hounded them. The very private Anne Morrow became part of “America’s golden couple,” and the very public bride of a hero.

With Charles’ instruction and encouragement, Anne earned a private pilot’s license, and also eventually became the first woman to hold a first-class glider pilot’s license. These feats were unusual, because at the time women didn’t enter into “masculine” pursuits like aviation very often. She served as her husband’s radio operator, navigator and co-pilot on several long flights charting potential routes for commercial airlines. Eventually, Anne was the first woman awarded the National Geographic Society’s Hubbard Medal for her duties as “crew” on two of these survey flights. These flights, in sometimes dangerous conditions in their single-engine airplane over uncharted air space, brought Anne and Charles closer and were some of their happiest times together. (Later in life, Anne received several more awards for her contributions to aviation.)

Anne and Charles had six children, though tragically, their first child, Charles Jr., was kidnapped and killed at the age of 18 months. For many years, Anne felt continually pulled between her roles—her diaries show a constant battle for time and space to write and think, all while raising children and accompanying Charles on many of his flights. As she writes in the introduction of Locked Rooms and Open Doors, “But on the other hand, the trip [an Atlantic survey flight], especially as it was prolonged for five and a half months, separated me from my child [their second son, Jon], the most healing and nourishing element in my life. It also crowded out any possibility of a quiet contemplative coming to terms with grief, for me a necessary inner process, and it meant a long interruption in the work I had just restarted of writing my book [North to the Orient].”

Despite the many demands on her time, Anne produced 13 books, including five volumes of diaries and letters. Her most famous book, Gift From the Sea, a collection of essays about women’s roles, was inspired by a vacation on Florida’s Captiva Island. North to the Orient, was 1935’s number one bestseller.

Despite a number of serious challenges to their relationship, Anne and Charles remained married until Charles’ death in 1974. Anne continued to write after his death, though she did not publish any more books.

I want to be like Anne Morrow Lindbergh in the sense that I fully enter into life while still retaining a sense of myself and my own work. She was able to move beyond her comfort zone and achieve more than she ever dreamed possible. It encourages me that she felt the same work/family tug of war I do, even though she lived in a different time and under different circumstances. I’m not alone in feeling torn between the needs of my family and my own ambitions.

I recently picked up a lovely copy of Gift From the Sea at my library’s bookstore—I’ll end this post with some of Anne’s words on the topic of solitude taken from it:

“For it is not physical solitude that actually separates one from other men, not physical isolation, but spiritual isolation. It is not the desert island nor the stony wilderness that cuts you off from the people you love. It is the wilderness in the mind, the desert wastes in the heart through which one wanders lost and a stranger. When one is a stranger to oneself then one is estranged from others too. If one is out of touch with oneself, then one cannot touch others…. Only when one is connected to one’s own core is one connected to others, I am beginning to discover. And, for me, the core, the inner spring, can best be refound through solitude.”

If you want to know more about Anne Morrow Lindbergh, check out Kathleen C. Winters’ biography, Anne Morrow Lindbergh: First Lady of the Air, or pick up one of Anne’s collections of diaries and letters.

“Reading makes immigrants of us all. It takes us away from home, but more important, it finds homes for us everywhere.”

—Jean Rhys

Here are some of my favorite destinations, and the books, both fiction and non-fiction, that have taken me there:

Greece—As a teenager, I discovered Mary Stewart’s novels, several of which are set in Greece. My Brother Michael (Delphi), This Rough Magic (Corfu) and The Moon-Spinners (Crete) ignited my interest in visiting Greece. Four and a half years ago, I took my battered copy of My Brother Michael with me when I finally had the chance to walk in the shadow of the ruins at Delphi. Can you resist this description: “Ahead of us the mountain thrust that great buttress out into the valley, the river of olive trees swirling round it as the water swirls round the prow of  a ship, to spread out beyond into a great flat lake that filled the plain. High up, in the angle where the bluff joined the mountain, I saw it, Apollo’s temple, six columns of apricot stone, glowing against the climbing darkness of the trees behind. Above them soared the sunburned cliffs; below was a tumble, as yet unrecognizable, of what must be monument and treasury and shrine…. Above, the indescribable sky of Hellas; below, the silver tide of the olives everlastingly rippling down to the sea.”

Delphi

Prince Edward Island, Canada—As a devout Anne of Green Gables fan, I still hope to visit good old PEI in person—definitely a “bucket list” travel destination.

Maine—Sarah Graves pens a terrific series of mysteries set in Maine (The Dead Cat Bounce is the first one), and Drinking the Rain was one of my favorite non-fiction reads last year. 

England—I’m a big fan of mysteries—and many of my favorite murders take place in England. Agatha Christie, Patricia Wentworth, Josephine Tey, Dorothy L. Sayers and many more authors show us the history of London or the tranquil countryside while mining the dark side of human nature. On a more peaceful note, Susan Allen Toth’s My Love Affair With England made me want to rent a flat, unpack and stay a while—and Scotland Yard’s services were not required.

Here’s an excerpt from Toth's piece on England’s footpaths:

In addition to these, I’ve visited New York City with Nero Wolf and Archie Goodwin, Egypt with Amelia Peabody and the Four Corners area of New Mexico and Arizona with  Lt. Joe Leaphorn and Sergeant Jim Chee—I could go on and on, but I want to know:

Where has your reading taken you? Where will you go next? Where do you think I should go next?

(Visit Danielle Torres' blog here for a list of 13 books set in the Middle East!)

At least this dog’s life:

There are some days when I would like to be my dog!

Just as passion can be applied to all areas of my life, so can nourish. Nourish involves more than the food and drink I put into my mouth every day. It’s about making the choice to strengthen, build up, nurture and cherish myself and those around me. To nourish myself, yes, I will focus on nutrition, exercise, sleep—but also, I’ll allow—no, encourage—leisure time, reading, sketching, plain old noodling. These things nourish my soul. And I find when my soul feels nourished, my body is much more likely to also.

I will choose nourishing thoughts—not getting caught up in a cycle of guilt or self-criticism, but focusing on the uplifting and positive—pretty much what I try to do with this blog.

This will involve looking beyond the easiest, most convenient choice. To go back to eating, sure, a bag of Cheetos or some cookies might soothe me momentarily, but they will not nourish me. They’ll leave me feeling guilty, wanting more, even sick if I really overindulge. In the same way, mindlessly watching TV or surfing the ’net can temporarily soothe—but they won’t really nourish me down deep inside. Reading, drawing or painting, playing with Tank, having meaningful conversations, meditating, taking a walk outside, even a nap—these are some things that really nourish, and they won’t leave me feeling bad about myself later.

As a mother, wife, daughter and friend I help nourish others—and I love that. I’m realizing to do so I must nourish myself, and not take shortcuts with the junk food of life. I want to take as much care with myself as I do with others. That doesn’t mean I won’t ever allow myself a piece of chocolate (would life be worth living? I think not.) or an episode of Castle. It just means most of my choices will be nourishing ones.

What nourishes you? What do you sometimes do instead of what you know you’d find deeply satisfying?