sisterville

I was speed-reading Sally Rooney’s, Normal People, before my book club meeting with my friends when I stumbled upon a quote that resonated with me.

“Marianne had the sense that her real life was happening somewhere very far away, happening without her, and she didn’t know if she would ever find out where it was and become part of it.”

I have so often felt that disconnect, the feeling that I had not yet found my people or discovered where I belong. That feeling is partly what made me flee to a college far away, then to a city even further. The past year I have awoken to the understanding that there is not a perfect place for me. No city has a solution for my wandering, no road will ever be the right one. The reality is I am spread out across every place I have ever been.

There is a certain beauty to being splintered. There are beaches in Michigan which feel like my soul. A lighthouse which feels like my childhood identity. I have a best friend on the East Coast, several in the Midwest. There is a road in Colorado which feels like the age twenty. A view of the mountains that feels like freedom. There are hills in Missouri which feel like home.

There are a few acres in Missouri that truly were home for much of my life. 6400 Stillhouse Lane, the address of Sisterville. I was the oldest of four girls, we grew up in the woods. We had no neighbors, only trees as far as our young eyes could see. We ran naked in the summers, took showers outside with a hose. We tripped over rocks and took mud baths. The four of us are covered in scars from bug bites, bike crashes, tree falls, and childhood stumbles. We built teepees with tattered sheets, traded acorns and rocks. Sisterville had an uptown and downtown, respectively two sides of the house that sat within a hill. Sunflower Valley shone the brightest with the afternoon sun, sparkling yellow light filtering through the trees onto the flowers that traveled from the front to the backyard with seasons. There was a junkyard we recklessly scavenged through, an abandoned house, car, and pool we were sure fairies now used. As Mayor of Sisterville, my only failed iniative was to build a pool. For a whole summer we dug, straight into rocks and the silt that would never hold. In the winter that shallow hole turned into the perfect sled starting point.

My sisters and I didn’t have the typical childhood. We weren’t allowed sleepovers or microwaves or Disney channel. We really only had each other and Sisterville, that was our society.

In this world it is too easy to discard the value of community and culture. It’s easy to speak with disdain of the ways we interact, to write-off the chance we’ll ever be successful with the way that things are. I was stuck in that feedback loop for a while. Convinced that the only solution was the drop out of society, to not participate. I have new ideas now.

My solution now is to create my own culture. To really build the life I want to live, regardless of where I am at. I don’t need to live in my dream town to feel fulfilled. Fulfillment comes from within. So many things about the world bring me joy now. I could feel that joy in New York City, I could feel that joy in small-town Idaho.

It’s quite easy for me to be happy now. It takes a simple walk in the sun, a new book, or a new friend. A lovely winding road to drive down, the sight of my cat rolling over for belly rubs when I get home. A year ago I would see quotes about it being the little things in life. I thought that was bullshit. But here I am now, getting excited to pour a cup of tea.

I plan to build a community, somehow, someway. I want my sisters and my friends there. A garden, a greenhouse. I want a library, a book club. No phones inside of the homes, wine or whiskey near the fireplace. I want to think deeply and laugh harder. Children must play outside until dinner is ready. I want to curate and to create. One day, I hope to have the home that feels like a safe space for everyone.

Sisterville was simply my first attempt at building a society