What We Hold On To: Reflections on Ann Patchett’s Tender Essays

Some books arrive like gentle rain on parched soil—unexpected, slow, and quietly transformative. These Precious Days by Ann Patchett is one such companion.

I first opened it in February 2024, with the essay My Three Fathers, somewhere between the calm backwaters of Alleppey and the larger silence of being away. I didn’t know then that I’d carry this book with me for months, unwilling to let it go—like a letter from a friend I wasn’t ready to reply to.

Patchett writes not to impress, but to connect. Her essays shimmer with grace—on writing, on friendship, on choosing not to have children, on her unexpected and life-altering friendship with Sooki Raphael (Tom Hanks’ assistant and a bright, beloved presence). But it isn’t just the content—it’s the feeling these pieces evoke. Like warm light on a cold morning, or the steady voice of someone who has lived long enough to know how brief it all is, and kind enough to share what she’s learned without pretense.

This wasn’t a book I raced through. I kept it by my side, dipping in and out, holding on to it because I didn’t want it to end. There’s a certain kind of sadness when you close a book that made you feel understood—These Precious Days was one of those rare reads.

And I know, without doubt, that I’ll return to it. When the world feels noisy or thin, when I crave something tender and true, this will be the book I reach for. Again and again.

It’s become, quietly and certainly, one of my favourite reads in recent years. Not because it dazzled, but because it stayed. Because it asked, gently: what do we hold on to in this life? And then answered—with stories that remind us the answer is often: each other.