rooted / uprooted

rooted / uprooted

Two friends’ jointly written blog post came through the transom last night announcing they were hitting the road – selling their house – and beginning a period of wandering. Everything they wrote hit me just right, in that tingling “yes this” sort of way. Freeing themselves of ghosts, living outside the tyranny of economies, and being open to what is.

On my same late-night, can’t-sleep meander, I came across a sort of commune workspace in LA called The Birds Nest that seems to be about growing food in community, sharing skills, rethinking systems, gathering wisdom from elders. It, too, was spot on. It, too, made me tingle with possibility.

My central question for awhile, but coming ever into focus, is: Can one be rooted and uprooted?

In the past year’s tumult, I have grown ever more aware of and grateful for my current community — those who have looked out for me have included old friends but also many new ones. The latter have reminded me that friends are available everywhere and at all times, if we share our authentic selves and are porous enough for them to offer a spot of water. The former remind me of what is earned through time spent in presence.

While my system mightily senses changes rumbling and gurgling just over there (squint hard enough and I can see it) — roots aching to jump to a new time zone, a different terroir — there are other ways in which my taproot has grown threefold and is firmly planted in this soil of oak and prairie.

What does exploration + community look like? How do they coincide?

All of this is mixed into a rich slurry of questions about my talents and creativity, where I might do most good in this knocked up crazy world – questions that percolate, ooze, simmer, and periodically produce an aroma of inspirational hope. I feel my elder stripes growing darker and more ready to be seen in the world. I sense my presence deepening.

As I set off this morning for time on the road with my daughter, I know all of this will be beating around in the back of my heart, listening for possibilities. If you have any insights on this rooted/unrooted conundrum, message me. I’m listening.

this must be the place

this must be the place

pockets of life. ping of response.

pockets of life. ping of response.