Connecting Threads
hometown visit fueling an endless quest for definition
I stepped off the plane into the humid, yet familiar New England summer air. It was five in the morning and I had a two-and-a-half-hour drive back to my hometown ahead of me. My mind fell into a daze from the lingering cold I’d been dealing with and the fact that I always felt this way before visiting back East. I have a complicated relationship with home; some of us do. I haven’t ever felt particularly attached to it, nor is it somewhere I’ve looked to for comfort. My darkest memories intertwine with ghosts of the past amongst its open, winding roads. While these complexities become confronted each time I cross over the “Welcome to” sign, it’s still a place where I find the most grounding. Holding stark contrast from my current home, it’s a reminder of how I’ve grown outside the context of the rolling hills and rural antiquities. However, as I take in these landscapes, I feel grateful for the ways in which I’ve been infused with them and the history they hold - I’ve harnessed an indomitable spirit here.
As I settled back into the (now unfamiliar) slow pace and sticky air, I found myself grasping for what was no longer within arms reach. I’d been listening to an undeniable gut-feeling that was calling for me to gain clarity on my connecting threads. Yet, with no room to call my own, I was left no concrete reminder of who I was all those years ago when my world didn’t exist much beyond the borders. I had to explore deeper.
While I drove around the tree-lined streets, I started to note how they looked the same, but quickly shifted to focusing on what was different. New houses rose from their clear-cut lots created a contrast to the mature landscaping of the neighbors who’d lived my whole life and then some. I could hear my mother’s critique of these opened yards and the astonishment of someone choosing a lack of privacy This thought made me laugh a bit considering I’ve choosen to live in the middle of a city; arguably agreeing to taking the least amount of privacy.
As I took in this perception, a duality in the neighborhood showed its face between those rooted and uprooted. There was a clear picture of old and new settling in the same place. I shifted to leave my lens of reality behind in exchange for expanding on this observational metaphor.
We find ourselves in this cycle of rooting and uprooting. The frequency of uprooting become less as the years go on, but I’ve found myself to be in a particularly potent moment within this alternating context. More and more, I’ve found myself questioning “do I begin planting roots or do I completely uproot my life to start something new?" as if looking for a defacto answer. This question’s permance has been intensified recently by making small mental notes of how my friends are beginning to take a stance one way or the other. In a search for definition, I so despreately wanted to be able to answer definitiviely. Yet, shifting back into my present reality, I am no longer here nor there. The connecting threads, or my own roots as I’ve now defined them as, are growing regardless. I’m comfortable coexisting in the ambiguity which I continue to find myself in. It does not mean that I am not looking for answers to this defining dualtiy, but I see them as more relational than concrete. From my visit, I know I will always have a place to call home as we all have one encoded within us. We are constantly rooted, even when deciding to uproot.
Going to share August’s playlist as well! It’s on the shorter side (I was thinkinggggg this month), so good for a quick listen while you walk to the store, bike around, during your commute, or just because. The theme: dead ends are good for you lol. Felt it a lot this month, but grateful for redirection.
With care,
Liz