We use the term base for so many things: home base, he stole a base, his baser instincts, based on, I’m on base. When we were kids we played hide and seek; our object was to outwit our friends and make it back to the designated safe zone. The base. It was the one place our opponents could not touch us. We were safe. You can’t touch me; I’m on base!
As an adult I find that I am always searching for a place to touch down, a place to call my own. My island. Base. It’s the place I go for consolation when life seems to be too much. It’s the place I go to become untouchable, if only for a brief moment. I collect myself here. I read here; I write here. I think beautiful and terrible thoughts. I pause here. From here I decide my next move.
I’m not the only one.
Over time our bases may change; the places where we once sought refuge are no longer the primary places we go for comfort and consolation. The places we never expected to feel untouchable become our havens. But the need for some personal spot of refuge, a safe zone, never changes.