Too Restless for Roots

Basically every four years for as long as I can remember, I’ve gone through some big transition, and because of my career choice, that transition has always involved school. Well, I’ve been out of college for four years now and I guess I’m subconsciously itching for another transition. It’s starting to feel unnatural for me to stay in one place for this long. And I worry that this fear of sitting still could be self-sabotaging. Is it merely a case of “the grass is always greener?” I work at one of the best schools in the area with great people. My friends and family are loyal, supportive, warm, and funny people that accept and even love me despite my drama queen tendencies. I have a nice home and I’m making a living wage. But still I just feel stuck.

I’ve really struggled to think, let alone write about this because I worry that I’m being ungrateful. I don’t think I’m alone though. My beliefs as a “writer” force me to try and make sense of this because I know that it’s another example of common ground, another feeling that connects people through their shared human experience. (Too much? Don’t worry, I’ll write about an embarrassing escapade soon. A combination of too much caffeine, cold medicine, and a tendency to over analyze everything has made it impossible for me to sleep, so this is what happens). It just seems natural to worry in your mid-to-late twenties about whether or not you’re making the right decisions. Especially when routine starts to make time go faster.

Overall, I’ve discovered that I am terrified of roots. Not roots in the literal sense (although a combination of tree-roots and my nearsightedness has created some sticky situations while trail running—but I did meet that nice man with the collie that helped me hobble back to my car last Spring). I mean metaphorical roots. The ones that start to grow the longer that you stay in the same place. I’ve refused to buy a house even though it’s a buyers’ market and a mortgage payment would be cheaper than rent. Those are roots that are too big and deep to dig up; they aren’t worth the trouble if you have to transplant yourself, so you just leave them where they are. I’m not a pet owner because pets are roots. I’ve kept myself a little distanced from my community because I’m afraid of letting my roots stretch down too deep. If I ever do get up the courage (and money) to go on some big adventure, or to not boomerang back to my hometown, I don’t want to have to dig for long. I was even hesitant to get real furniture in my apartment because I hate knowing that if I want to move, I have to get other people to help me do it. Real, substantial furniture is just more roots. I was so happy the day that Honey, my beautiful upright Wurlitzer piano, was delivered. I stayed up and played her until 4:00 in the morning. But then I couldn’t sleep because I got panicky thinking about what I would have to do with her if I decided to move. My piano is the deepest
root I’ve got right now.

Again, I’m probably revealing just how neurotic I am, but I still refuse to believe I’m alone on this. Maybe it means I’m completely commitment phobic. Maybe it means I’m doomed to miss out on a lot of great opportunities around me in the moment because I’m too busy planning for some grand-gesture future that may or may not happen. I certainly hope not since I’m aware of this now. Especially since there are so many good things in my life right now. But I think it does explain the rut I’ve found myself in as of late. I’m seeing a lot of my friends grow these deep, deep roots through weddings and babies. They don’t struggle with roots. In fact, roots are a good thing to them. The deeper their roots are, the easier it is to weather the storm. They are less likely to get washed away or freeze during the winter.

Maybe if I take this metaphor a little farther (before it falls to pieces) I can come up with a solution that won’t make me feel so stuck or ungrateful, because really and truly, I have it so good. Since I love and believe in metaphors so much, I should be able to have roots, as long as they are in a good sized planter. They can still get pretty deep and I won’t be as distant or as restless. Sure, if I decide to move somewhere, it might take some planning or digging, but nothing too drastic. Maybe if I think of it that way, I’ll stop missing out on what’s going on around me, and stop holding back.

I don’t know if any of this makes sense. I’ve been trying to write about it for weeks. I think I could probably blame it all on Betty Friedan. My life would be a lot less complicated if it wasn’t for her.