B is for Belonging

From the Memoirs of Billie Harper, looking back on her learning journey.

It’s funny what you remember.

Not the exact day or time, but the feeling—like the edge of something soft and necessary finding its place.

I was about fourteen, still uncertain of who I was becoming, when we travelled to the Central Zone. I’d begged to visit the RKIN, the Regional Knowledge Hub Network—the same one my ancestor Molly had walked into more than a century earlier. I wanted to follow in her footsteps, to feel what she might have felt. But when I arrived for the learning circle, I remember stepping into the hall and immediately feeling out of place—too young, too polished, too unsure.

Learning Circle

A woman named Eliya welcomed me. She was older, wore her grey hair loose, and walked like someone who didn’t hurry. She handed me a mug of tea without asking what I wanted, and said, “You’ll sit with us. Not just observe. That’s how we do things here.”

That moment changed something. Not because of the tea, or the meeting—but because she didn’t question whether I belonged. She decided I did, and so I did.

We don’t talk about belonging enough. We think it’s something we must earn, or perform. But I’ve learned it’s often offered before we know how to ask for it.

Later that night, as we sat by the fire, someone told a story about the old days, when people moved constantly — not because they wanted to, but because they had no choice. Climate migration, war, fear. Belonging back then wasn’t about where you lived. It was about who would hold you when you arrived.

I’ve carried that lesson with me through every phase of my work — from early education to truth-telling commissions to care networks. Belonging isn’t a reward. It’s a responsibility we extend to one another.

Now, in 2282, it’s written into our shared agreements. Newcomers are welcomed with presence, not suspicion. Elders teach the art of holding space. Children grow up learning that difference is not a threat — it’s the beginning of understanding.

We still get it wrong sometimes. But we course-correct quickly. We listen.

Looking back, I see how much of my confidence, my learning, even my leadership, came from moments like that one with Eliya. Someone else saw me as part of the whole before I could see it myself.

And that, to me, is what belonging really is: Not fitting in — but being held, as you are.

“Belonging is the soil where learning takes root.”