22 Jul

A few months ago I had a unique opportunity to consider possibly living in Seattle. I was contacted about a teaching position that had some wonderful aspects but nonetheless would have turned my life upside down. Although I flew out for the interview, during the two days I was in meetings about the position, I couldn’t look the interviewers in the eyes and say, “Yes, I’d love to do this. I’m ready to leave the life and work I currently love for another life I would probably also love.”

When I was contemplating all of this, a friend of mine said that although he believed in opportunities, he also thought roots were important. His comment echoed a bizarre sentimentality that was simultaneously welling up in me. I have always been as mobile as a tumble weed, loving the thrill of a new locale and life, but suddenly I felt panic at the thought of pulling up the few roots I have. How many times does one pick up and move like the Juliette Binoche character in “Chocolat”? When I boarded the plane for home, I started to cry at the thought of potentially leaving my home.

None of us are getting any younger. Both of my parents are dead. Only one grandparent remains and right this minute a dear friend of mine battles with cancer in the hospital. How can I honor the relationships and lives that are precious to me, right now before they slip through my hands?

Yes, roots are important.

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