Roots Don’t Ask Permission

Two years. That’s how long I spent wishing I was somewhere else. The amount of time I spent trying to fold my life into the version of it that I wanted it to be, figuring out ways and timing and theories around how to live to be able to live how I wanted.

It wasn’t time wasted, more just time not well spent because when I got to where I wanted to be I realized that it wasn’t where I wanted to be anymore. Or more, that I wasn’t who I was when I thought that this is where I would be happy when I became the person I wanted to be (and I am the person I want to be, for the record, it’s just that the idea of who that was evolved when I did).

So I got to this beautiful place with these wonderful people and fantastic ideals and realized that I didn’t fit it. And that I was okay with it, but I was also disappointed with it. Because a two year relationship with an idea is a long one and although the attachment wasn’t unhealthy, it also wasn’t fulfilling me in any way.

But I still experienced. I still let myself become immersed in the wonderment and wholesomeness of the place, of the growing process, of the ways I was happy that I didn’t fit. I revelled in the idea that my home was what felt like home and that it was okay to have felt so long feeling torn because I understood finally that what it really signified was that (somewhere) I was grounded.

I had spent so long preparing to uproot myself that I hadn’t realized just how deep my roots had grown – particularly without my conscious permission. Adjustment is always welcome and often necessary – but it’s also essential to plant yourself in the right soil. I believe that I got the ground work right (although I wasn’t aware of it at the time) and in a way grew more from trying to be somewhere else that being complacent with where I was – kind of how plants grow taller while they’re looking for more light.

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This photo series is from when I  visited this place I thought that I belonged; how beauty doesn’t always mean a warm welcome, but that doesn’t necessarily mean there aren’t things you don’t need there anymore, either.

 

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herHABITAT

A creative of all sorts. Do-er. Fierce.

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