Homing Instincts is another one of the books I got for $1 a few months ago at a used book sale. I read half of it within the first few days of opening it, and then took my sweet time in finishing it. I started it on my birthday, which I think contributed to my appreciation of it at first - I was feeling the birthday nostalgia, thinking about having moved back home 2 years ago, and Menkedick's writing on the draw she felt to her home and the area where she grew up after becoming pregnant felt relatable. But then I fell off the book for a while; I might have enjoyed it more if it was a bit shorter; once I left my one-year older nostalgia mindset the book didn't speak to me as much. But there were some great reflections on homecoming and learning to appreciate the physical land and area that you most likely took for granted as a child. I will give Mrs. Menkedick credit because she made me feel like I want to go to Ohio for the first time in my life!
Some of my favorite lines:
"We are feeling the tug toward the familiar: the places we've been raised, the families we've left behind. Within this is a perplexing ambiguity about whether returning home signifies growing up or giving up or both - and if it's both, what exactly we want to give up in exchange for what."
"For the first time in my life, I understand the concept of home. Home is not only a refuge, a locus of warmth and routine and familiarity,...but a sense of peace with contradiction. It is a giving in, an acceptance, the place where I finally strip life of all its decor of aspiration and regret and let it be what it is, where it is, and nothing more. It is the space in which I forgo both anticipation and nostalgia, the space to which I let myself belong. It is a space whose defining chronological units are not days or weeks or months but the moment and the broad sweep: the first acutely felt in its passing, the other almost annihilating in its breadth."
And this Annie Dillard quote: "When everything else has gone from my brain - the President's name, the state capitals, the neighborhoods where I lived, and then my own name and what it was on earth I sought, and then at length the faces of my friends, and finally the faces of my family - when all this has dissolved, what will be left, I believe, is topology: the dreaming memory of land as it lay this way and that."