Archived - Day Three

This evening I found myself in a park by my little town's busiest intersection, turning my face to the breeze, watching the grass blades bobble in the wind while cars whizzed by beyond the spruce trees some seventy yards away. I started humming "Fallin" by Alicia Keys softly under my breath.

"Lovin you darlin' makes me so confused..."

I've fallen in love with where I live, somehow. This on-again off-again, want to stay gotta go kind of relationship I've had for so long, it has turned now into a fondness, someplace that instead of turmoil, brings me peace. I adore this small town that somehow makes me feel big and bright. I love its seasons, its people, and its size. I love how its so different from anything I've previously known.

It is only confusing now because its smallness sometimes feels restrictive. Its surrounding fields can feel more barren and endless than lush with life. Its remoteness and distance from home and adventure can feel like shackles, like an anchor tying me to a place that can’t match a twisted idea of growth. And it doesn’t matter that this is not true, for this is the feeling.

If I peruse social media for too long, these negatives begin to take up the space. My longings grow. I find myself wanting more, wanting more right now. And it's not a good longing. It's the hurried kind, the rushed kind, the greedy "you can never be satisfied" kind. Queue "I'm in a Hurry (and don't know why)" by Alabama. Queue "Never Enough" from the Greatest Showman.

However, when I sit and I breathe...I realize I am genuinely content. This anchor is not a burden but rather a temporary tie that keeps me grounded while I continue to love and find joy and strive to better myself and embrace unknown and truly grow. This week, a workout instructor said to me at the end of a class, "if it feels like you're stuck in one place, maybe you've just been stopped here so you can heal before you move on." I almost cried.

And I know this place may not be my forever. And I know that perhaps it is. There are times I look around and feel I never want to leave. There are times I am called to venture somewhere new. But these calls are far-off ones, not urgent or panicked cries. They are reminders that I am not permanently settled, giving gentle permissive nods to let go and let my roots keep on digging, let my branches keep stretching to the sun.

I can take heart in the fact that even if my roots do grow deeper into this ground, I do not have to be violently uprooted when it's time to move along. Repotting and replanting will remain on the table, and these are far more gentle and less disruptive ways to relocate.