The Books that Find Us

(my heartfelt review of The House that Joy Built by Holly Ringland)

Sometimes books, like people, show up precisely when you need them.

While watching one of my fav YouTubers I saw the title of the audiobook she was listening to and thought… hmmm, that sounds interesting. The book was The House that Joy Built by Holly Ringland.  I hunted it down and put in my Amazon cart for another day. Then in a rush to buy something for hunky hubby later I accidentally bought the book, too.

Darn it.

From the moment I opened the package I knew. The joyful cover, the feel of the pages, the magic that lingered in the air. This book would change something…change me.

I carried the book around for a day or so. I somehow wasn’t quite ready.

When I finally opened it, I devoured it. I finished the whole thing in less than 24 hours. I annotated my whole reading journey (highlighted passages, tabbed the pages, wrote in the margins). My new bestie, Holly, came from Australia to talk to me (okay so I bought her book and she doesn’t know we are besties yet, but just go with me here) and I wanted to remember the conversation, circle back to the things that made me think or cry, and soak it all in.

I did not want to read the book that quickly. I kept saying to myself, slow down and savor it. But I couldn’t; I wanted to know more. I wanted to hear more about the Never-Never…I’m Wendy and I always wanted to be Wendy in Neverland. 

“I’m struck by the realization that creativity is a kind of Never-Never. A vast, rich, extreme landscape we each have inside ourselves. An inner country full of our daydreams, wonders, joys, longings, hopes and pains. A place brimming with the magical quality of infinite possibilities. Somewhere we yearn for, to experience and belong to, to revel in, to love, like any landscape we seek in the natural world.” (pg. 24)

I wanted to know how to show up for the little girl who wrote stories, who put together multi-colored newspapers, the girl who got her Grandmother to teach her to type so she could keep up with the ideas in her head. And in between heartfelt stories, 80s references, and quotes from experts Holly showed me how she does it. And in her wisdom and humor, in her vulnerability, she gently led me to a memory of that girl. The girl whose dreams I could live now if I committed to showing up for her. 

While Holly is a writer, this book is not just for writers. The book is really about creativity. So the book is for every writer, painter, gardener, dancer, cook, decorator, teacher, problem solver, human that expresses creativity in some facet of their lives.

“Creativity enriches our sense of meaning and agency in our lives; strengthens our confidence and empowerment; cultivates resilience; fosters compassion for and connection with others; stimulates empathy; allows us to express ourselves in ways we otherwise can’t; encourages us to stay curious, open-minded and open-hearted; and boosts our mental health and wellbeing. This book is about creating because, for all the reasons just mentioned creativity allows us to access and give ourselves joy.” (pg. 110)

Joy.

Joy. 

Joy.

Last night after I finished reading I walked into a memory I haven’t thought of in decades. I had finished writing and illustrating a “book” at my grandparents house. I handed the parcel of folded papers tied with a bit of ribbon to my grandmother. I am sure she was busy with a thousand tasks of running house and home, caring for me, volunteering, and life, but she let them all fall away as she delicately carried my creation to the table. She sat and read it. Studying each page thoroughly. As she turned the last page she said, “It’s a masterpiece.”

I nodded because my elementary school self knew it was…everything I created was. 

(oh that we would never lose that sense of self and belief in our creations)

Then she asked me, “Where is this land of dolphins and fairies?”

I pointed to my head, and said something like, “I wrote that so other people can go where I go all the time.”

“You’re a writer,” she nodded and kissed my cheek.

Wendy and her Grandmother, Esther.

My new bff, Holly, told me —

Truth: at any age, at any time, we can decide anew to return to the home of creativity inside ourselves. We can find the courage to cultivate that inner country, to nurture it, to grow and build a space inside for the joy it brings us….No matter how we abandon it, how old we grow, or how far away from ourselves we’ve drifted, our courage to create, despite all the things that have stopped us, is there.” (pg. 36)

Lately, I struggle with the what now questions of midlife, of emptying nests, of finishing up a college degree (finally), of the feelings that there is more to this life. And while in some breaths I can tell you, I am going to do x, y, or z and confidently mean everything I say, in the next breath, I feel as though I’ve missed my chance…that I left something behind that I will never recover. 

But there was a little girl who wrote so others could see her stories too. So others could journey to the lands that made her happy. To the places she belonged and felt safe. And as I sit here today — tears in my eyes, Holly’s book tabbed and highlighted into a new colorful existence - I know that its not too late to return to her. To take that little girl’s hand and rediscover the inner country of creativity and dreams. 

Sometimes a book finds its way to you, because you need the words of an Australian woman who understands the movies and stories that molded you (I still can’t watch the swamp scene in Neverending Story), knows the stranglehold trauma can have on the creativity that flows in your veins, and is willing to face her fears to write the words your heart needs to hear.

If you have an ounce of creativity (in any facet) in your body I’m telling you…read the book.