As a kid, I was always making new "clubs."

Whether that was emptying out my tiny bedroom closet (or making under-the-living room table forts) to make a club with my sister or cajoling my friends at school in doing the same, I was always and forever trying to create a circle of like-minded people.

These clubs' central theme never mattered, as they would often shift and morph as new ideas popped up.

However, concocting a sense of belonging was paramount. That was the golden ticket I was after. Even at a young age, this need to belong was essential to me, even though I always felt like an outcast most of the time.

It's probably why I love the underdog/misfits in movies/books. Or why I love punk or other genres of music that speak of being on the fringe of society.

Maybe the constant moving homes growing up had something to do with being unable to grow roots and foster long-term relationships(?)

Sometimes when I'm spiraling into some kind of depresso espresso mood (thx for the catchphrase Ru, lol), it's so easy for me to forget that I do, in fact, belong to many, many tiny life clubs (more on this in another post).

I was perusing my bookshelf this morning and came across the book Belonging by Toko-pa Turner that I never finished (I have a habit of reading non-fiction in cyclical waves). How fitting that I "rediscovered" it now.


cozy reading sesh this morning on the balcony with my coffee

Turner's writing feels akin to Women Who Run With The Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés. Not her choice of language per se, but how she uses myth and stories to remind us of our sense of belonging.