Sanctuary Is the Place We Call Our Own
A software sales rep I know treasures his hour-long commute from his home to his office in Northern Virginia. As he heads down I-66, joining the dense traffic after Manassas, he lights up a cigar, listens to the radio or a podcast, and relishes his time alone, suspended between the responsibilities of family and the workplace.
Several moms familiar to me rise early in the morning before the children are stirring. They pour themselves a coffee and then enjoy some tranquility before the day comes barreling down the pike. One woman uses this time for spiritual reading, a couple of them write out the day’s to-do list, and another practices prayer and meditation.
Long ago, when I lived in Boston, an acquaintance, a window washer, found his place of quiet and recuperation in the Harvard Ga...