Throughout my life, the places I’ve lived have often mirrored my evolving aspirations. During the vibrant grunge scene in Seattle, with hair dyed a striking purple, I immersed myself in studying the music industry. Then, in sunny Burbank, California, I embraced the world of film production as an intern, learning to navigate the bright skies and polished colleagues. In Maine, with my hair cropped short and dyed burgundy, I started as a barista and later landed a communications position with the local hockey team. Whenever I felt boredom, fear, or sadness creeping in, I’d reinvent myself, seeking ways to channel my diverse creative passions into a fulfilling career.
By the time I reached my mid-20s, I began to settle down. Perhaps it was the ticking of an internal clock or simple exhaustion from constant relocation, but I found myself accumulating candles and photo frames from flea markets and Cost Plus World Market. I envisioned a cozy home adorned with candlelight reflecting off the tiny mirrors of my vibrant embroidered throw pillows. It could be a loft in Oregon, a quaint cabin in Washington’s woods, or a charming Victorian in New England—something small, unique, and serene.
Fast forward fifteen years, and I find myself in a spacious suburban home with my partner, Alex, and our two children. Since tying the knot, we’ve upsized twice, most recently just over a year ago. The cardboard boxes that once traveled with me from coast to coast have long been recycled. Now, we hold onto items like plastic party remnants from our kids’ weekend celebrations, their artwork, dusty novels, and even some still-sealed boxes in our basement containing jewel-toned Moroccan lanterns that belonged to my free-spirited younger self.
We reside on a quiet cul-de-sac, and we don’t intend to move until our kids are grown. We are planted firmly, rooted.
But perhaps the weight of a harsh Maine winter has me feeling stifled by the suburban life we’ve embraced. Our calendar is packed with dentist appointments and our son’s tae kwon do classes. The freshly painted celery-green walls and practical beige carpets, while pleasing, sometimes feel confining. Although our children benefit from an excellent education and a stable upbringing, I occasionally mourn the heaviness of this lifestyle. It feels as though the roots we’ve planted are digging deeper into the soil.
Reflecting on my younger self, I’m struck by her transient spirit. She drifted from place to place, leaving behind friends, family, and opportunities, all while basking in her freedom and lightness.
Of course, we could uproot ourselves if we wanted. Downsizing is an option, and I often daydream about selling everything and whisking my family off to Spain for a season, reinventing our lives like Madonna did.
And maybe that’s still in the cards—I still manage to surprise myself. Last spring, I ventured into hot yoga as a nod to my approaching 40th birthday and discovered a newfound tranquility as my body stretched and my mind calmed. I’ve transitioned from an aspiring writer to a published one, fulfilling a long-held dream. In recent years, I’ve embraced running and meditation. Even as we stay grounded, we seek to expand, adjusting our perspectives and habits, though a part of me enjoys the security of our conventional choices.
What I truly miss, I realize, isn’t merely change or freedom but the assurance that I could escape and start anew whenever life becomes challenging. Because let’s face it—things get tough all the time: when I receive an email regarding our son’s behavior, when the property tax bill arrives, or when worries about my parents’ health surface.
While the nomadic lifestyle of my past seemed more thrilling, it wasn’t necessarily happier. Today, I possess much of what I sought then: a fulfilling creative career, a loving partner, wonderful children, and supportive friends. Moreover, I’ve gained the strength to weather life’s storms, finding solace in the commitment to stay grounded when times get tough or monotonous. My life is no longer terrifyingly open-ended.
The key, it seems, is to remain anchored without feeling trapped. To be planted yet allow for some flexibility. And to recognize that this bustling phase of life, which sometimes feels stifling, is indeed what I wanted.
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