Befriending Myself Using Anam Cara's Celtic Wisdom

This book sang to me...

Readers, this week’s post is a little different. It’s part of a community writing project called “Enchanted by a Book.” In July 2024, Quiet Reading with Tara Penry and Substack writers are joining together to spread the joy and revelation of reading and the unique experience of every reader with a book. Find a complete list of participants on the project home page, where new links will appear all month.

Here’s the question

Tara Penry

asked: When were you enchanted by a book, poem, or story?

This is about a book that enchanted me so much, it changed how I saw myself. Hope you enjoy it and please leave a comment or hit reply.

I was terrified of being lonely during the holidays. 

As 2023 came to a close, I found myself in Austin, far from my support system in the Bay Area, single, and still relatively new to the city. The decision to stay put had been gnawing at me since Thanksgiving, and it was a worry I couldn't quite shake.

The alternative, spending money when times were very tight to be in the Bay Area and go to a family holiday party that always left me feeling more stressed and anxious, didn’t make sense. 

So I decided to do the brave thing and open myself up to spending the holidays in my new city. 

Often, the universe has a way of answering our fears with unexpected gifts. That holiday, the gift came through a book called, Anam Cara, A Book of Celtic Wisdom by John O'Donohue. 

I stumbled on the concept of "anam cara"—soul friend—years ago while writing a poem about a lost college friendship. As I read O'Donohue's book in the quiet days between Christmas and New Year's, I felt like I was with an old friend who understood exactly the kind of connection I was longing for.

His words enchanted me with a soulful song about belonging in the truest sense–the book helped me examine how to befriend and belong to myself.  

In the prologue, he warns, “If we become addicted to the external, our interiority will haunt us. We will become hungry with a hunger no image, person, or deed can still.” 

I had promised myself I wouldn't hide behind work during this time off. So I indulged in long walks, lingered in bookstores, splurged on pre-made meals from Central Market, pampered myself with steamy saunas, and had lazy mornings without alarms. 

During those relaxed days and nights, swinging in my patio chair, his writing reshaped my experience of solitude and connection.

What made my encounter with Anam Cara so profound was its timing—a period of transition and self-reflection. 

Would it have meant the same to someone else or me at a different time? 

Maybe not. 

But that’s the magic of literature: its ability to meet us exactly where we are, offering precisely the wisdom we need at that moment.

In this case, the book became a mirror. O'Donohue's Celtic wisdom resonated with my deep longing for connection, challenging my ideas of loneliness, friendship, and self-worth. 

He writes about the Celts' kinship with nature, how it was both a presence and a companion. This hit home. 

Living in Austin, far from the ocean that usually calms my soul, I had to find new ways to connect. 

Daily walks by Lady Bird Lake became my ritual. 

Evenings in the swinging chair on my patio, surrounded by trees, became my sanctuary. 

Nature, even in an unfamiliar city, became my friend.

"Against the infinity of the cosmos and the silent depths of nature, the human face shines out as the icon of intimacy," O'Donohue says. 

He talks about an inner face, one that's "always sensed but never seen." It’s a metaphor for our deepest essence. Reading this, it felt like he was putting words to something I'd always known but couldn't express.

In those quiet moments by the lake or on my patio, I was paying attention to my true nature, my deepest feelings, and my core self. I felt the value of slowing down to examine my beliefs during a time that is habitually filled with socializing, meeting other people’s expectations, and depleting myself. 

Would it still be Christmakah if I didn’t run around trying to make everyone else feel good so I felt like I belonged?

My journal from that time is filled with reminders to rest. "There is a small window of rest right now that precedes lots of activity," I wrote to myself. "Please don't push through. Rest. Rest as much as you can." 

It was a warning to not deplete my inner resources. A reminder that self-care is necessary to maintain the "balance of your soul," as O’Donohue says. 

He obviously understood my struggle. 

Describing it perfectly, he wrote, "Sometimes it can be easy to be generous outward, to give and give and give and yet remain ungenerous to yourself. You lose the balance of your soul if you do not learn to take care of yourself." 

Reading this was like looking in a mirror. How many times had I pushed myself to the brink, giving everything to others while neglecting my own needs?

But knowing something and living it are two different things. 

The book has an enchanting visualization exercise about connecting with an inner well of love. While I struggled with that vision, it inspired a simpler practice. 

Placing a hand on my heart I whispered, "I love you and I am listening." This small act, repeated throughout the day, became an anchor. And I still practice it today. 

Something shifted during that time. The loneliness I was so afraid of didn't materialize. Instead, I found a rich solitude. I wasn't measuring my worth by my social calendar or productivity.

O'Donohue's words about friendship took on new meaning. "In everyone's life, there is a great need for an anam cara, a soul friend," he writes. I realized I was becoming my own anam cara. 

While I devoured his wisdom and journaled, the conversations with myself were as deep and nurturing as any I'd had with friends.

I discovered a capacity to transform loneliness into solitude. And created richness in quiet moments instead of measuring my worth by how busy I was or where I was included. 

This was a seismic shift for someone raised in a family that judged themselves based on achievements, career, and social calendar - a mindset that had left me exhausted and, ironically, still single.

This new holiday experience wasn't completely comfortable. But growth rarely is. 

And as I turned the final pages of Anam Cara, I felt different. More grounded, more at peace with myself. 

The book hadn't just kept me company; it guided me to a deeper understanding of companionship and a genuine desire for self-acceptance.

It sang to me while I took one small step towards belonging to myself.