belonging all over again
a bite-sized q&a with author prasanta verma
I once wrote a book on belonging and now am belonging all over again.
Part of belonging all over again, I’m learning, is not belonging. Not belonging to the group think that says conformity, or conformation, rather than incarnation is the goal. Conformation looks like shallow calls to “trust the process,” “get on board,” “be a team player,” be smaller, quieter, easier. Are you even for us? conformation asks when I ask too many questions and with no assurance that the us is for me. Incarnation, on the other hand, is a belonging that my friend Prasanta says doesn’t have to be negotiated or proven or performed. It just is. We just are. I am what I particularly am (which is not particularly easy.)
Prasanta is another one of my people by way of the Collegeville Institute. (If you don’t yet know of this magical place, this link is your new friend.) She sat next to me at a women’s writing workshop with Lauren Winner and exuded quiet genius vibes along with warm chortles and earnest wonderings. She was working her shit out in semi-public—an Asian woman raised in the South and living in the Midwest—and unafraid to wrestle with the particular loneliness of it all. And I think it’s this honest incarnation of a human life that makes her—any of us—trustworthy.
So, when the book she was working out finally worked its way into the world? I had to read it. I had to share it. I had to approach belonging and not belonging—including the blind spots of my white woman POV on the long-mulled-over subject—all over again. Consider this bite-sized interview your invitation to do the same.
Erin Lane: What is your favorite thing about being an adult?
Prasanta Verma: Being an adult means I can travel. Kids can’t travel alone or without a guardian. I can traipse all over the world, and I absolutely love this about being an adult.
There are a few other perks of being an adult, such as:
I can drink wine when I want.
I can eat as much chocolate as I want.
I can go to bed when I want.
I can also eat what I want. Eating anything I want and whenever I want sounds great, but being an adult means sometimes you really can’t (or shouldn't) eat whatever you want; the point is I could if I wanted. And I really like this part of being an adult. I like having the choice. Choice is a privilege I have as an adult.
Erin: You wrote a book (see Beyond Ethnic Loneliness: The Pain of Marginalization and the Path to Belonging). Tell us! What shitty script were you trying to tear up?
Prasanta: Yes! I’m flipping the script that belonging means I have to make myself small and exactly like everyone else. I’m tearing up the pages that say my identity has to conform to a white majority standard.
I’m flipping the script that our skin color or culture mean we don’t belong, and our belonging is dependent upon white majority culture accepting us, that these external things matter and dictate what spaces we can inhabit. I’m flipping the script that living fragmented and assimilating are the only ways to live and survive.
And I’m flipping the script that there is no hope for belonging—because there is.
Erin: Okay. Now flip the script. What truer, weirder story did you set out to write instead?
Prasanta: The truer, weirder story I set out to write is that belonging isn’t dependent on outward appearance, skin color, or culture, and that our belonging isn’t something we should have to negotiate—it simply is. Once we name our ethnic loneliness, and the cultural dynamics that make it so, then we can start to heal—not only ourselves, but also point to our society’s pathologies, the systems around us, that marginalize and '“other” those who are not like everyone else. The weirder script is that we belong no matter what. How weird is that?!
The flipped script is that being ourselves, our authentic selves, makes us happier and a better friend in this world.
The weirder story is that our loneliness, and in particular, our ethnic loneliness, is really an invitation to belonging.
The weirder story here is that maybe we need to learn how to belong to each other all over again.
Erin: Writing—and our shared Christian tradition—is about the risk of resurrection. What was the scariest thing about bringing this book to life?
Prasanta: Writing a book is vulnerable. And this is a personal book. It’s scary to see my words available for strangers to read and hold in their hands. It took some inner soul work to bring this to life.
It’s scary to think no one will buy it, that people might hate it, but it’s also scary to think that people will love it. But if a book means something to someone else, it’s doing a good work. Being loved, and having your words loved, is also kind of scary.
Bringing something to life means ultimately it will die, and This is The Way of Things. But in the case of words, even though we forget about new books after a while (unless you’re a Really Famous Person) or the newness wears off, our words do live on. And if our words were the little nudge that made us love each other better, if we understand each other better, if we feel less lonely, if we made someone laugh and injected joy in their day even for a brief moment, then that’s the hope of resurrection realized. Something new was born, and it’s worth all the scary parts.
Erin: Publishing a book is a shiny milestone! What is something less shiny about a life well-lived you’re celebrating this week?
Prasanta: I’m celebrating that I got the weeds pulled from my wayward flower garden and poured some mulch down to deter the weeds for a while. I’m celebrating that I’ve been taking walks and soaking in the beauty of these summer days. I’m also excited that I recently discovered delicious chocolate ice cream bars made with oat milk, and it’s my secret treat.
P.S. Want to celebrate Prasanta for doing her work and sharing her story? If so, consider joining me in donating to a nonprofit she loves: Sojourner Family Peace Center in Wisconsin, a shelter for women in Prasanta’s home state.
P.P.S. Much of my work around belonging all over again looks like renegotiating my relationship to church; I haven’t been in 2024. Instead, I’m spending Sunday mornings reading Sarah Bessey’s Field Notes for the Wilderness: Practices for an Evolving Faith in bed, pencil in hand. How good to know that not belonging is kind of a belonging, too.
P.P.P.S. How are you learning to belong all over again? Tell me your tiny kazoos (a.k.a. tiny celebrations) in the comments.
Erin, that experience at Collegeville was life-changing and part of the reason was meeting people like you. I had so much fun doing this brief interview! You are a fun, smart, and delightful human. Thank you for having me at your newsletter!