I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to put down roots. For someone who dislikes change as much as I do, I think it strange I should have such a gypsy heart. I wonder if I'll ever be satisfied with settling down, planting my feet in the dirt, and growing deep into the soil of a place. I have fantasies that one day we will settle in a small New England town where we will call the postman Junior, I will own an inn and frequent the town diner, and everyone will know our names and our favorite flavor of ice cream. And then I realize I'm dreaming of a Gilmore Girls episode, and I'll never own an inn or be witty in real life.

I also fantasize about moving to London again and living the big city life, where we are surrounded by interesting people who do big city things. There, I will follow in the footsteps of my literary heroes, and we will live near the river and drink copious amounts of tea from a place called Orange Pekoe. And then I realize I'm dreaming of the life I used to live, before my husband developed an aversion to rainy weather and I birthed three kids. Still, I feel the soil of the city clinging to my feet.

We have one year left before we have to pull up the tender roots growing down around Switzerland. They'll never grow deep here, and I hold the loveliness of this place lightly in my hands. But, I wonder about the future and, truth be told, I worry.We are told we can always go home again, but when we do, we realize we are not the same. Each street and town and country leaves a mark on our DNA. We change, we grow different, molded into a new shape influenced by the people and places we discover. We find the things which delight us in one place, may not delight us in another. The land that inspires and feeds a dream in the early years, may not nourish us in the years to come. And some places don't nourish us at all.

I don't know where we will be in a year. I don't know if we'll have to bend ourselves into the shape of a place, or if the place will shape itself around us. But I do know it will always leave it's mark.

Tell me where your putting down roots. How is it changing you?

The ache of spring fever is slowly creeping in. I feel it working its way up through my toes and I think about putting on the running shoes, but I grab the camera instead and decide to take it slow. I walk, long enough for the sun to warm my face, long enough to ease the ache, long enough to wander through woods to water and paths of golden grass.

I smile when I see a sign posted lane, and I wonder what hi-jinks occur between the hours of 6pm and 6am amongst the Amphibian crowd.

I pass dogs and horses and aging lovers. The light on the forest floor shifts between branches and I focus and frame the view in front and to the side of me. Then I remember to turn and take one long look at the path behind, and I realize it is just as beautiful as the one that lies ahead. I try to remember that and I think if only I had a pencil I'd write that down.

And then I smile at myself because, really, my thoughts are not profound enough to require a pencil to commit them to memory.

I drink my fill of shadows and light and sloping hills. I swallow cool air and bird song and feel them strum beneath my chest. I look back and I look forward and I think about how lovely it all is when you're looking through the right lens.

This is part three of a smallish series about living out your story. My story happens to include living overseas and traveling a lot, but it's really about the bigger picture; about contentment, acceptance and taking our deepest desires and fashioning a life out of them.


If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know that in the last ten years we have moved from PA to London to NJ to Zurich. That's not considered a lot of moving among most expat circles, but for a risk averse person such as myself it is enough.

Each move has come with it's own set of challenges, which I refer to collectively as 'Kimberly'. I tend towards over-dramatization. And an ungrateful spirit. And did I mention I'm risk averse? What all of these character flaws amount to is discontent, and discontent will literally destroy the ability to live out your story. Or in this case, my story.

The truth is that living out our story is messy and unpredictable. It is challenging, it has unexpected twists, and it probably doesn't look anything like we think it should. I spent two years living in London before I emotionally committed to my life there. I then fought, rather bitterly, against our move to New Jersey. I cried about the location, the house, and the church. I perked up a bit when I discovered the joy that is Target, but it wasn't all sparkles and rainbows.



It was in that place, one I considered completely lacking in interest, beauty or excitement, that I began to learn what it means to be content in all situations. Contentment is seeing each moment, each small handful of wildflowers, each sunny day or short line at the grocery store, each breath as a gift. They are all gifts, whether or not they take place in New Jersey or Zurich or the place that you call home.

I have good days and bad. I still on occasion have buyer's remorse over our decision to move overseas again. But I am content. Content to take each day as the gift that it is.

Kimberly

PS This was supposed to post days ago, but both blogger and my internet service have been down.

This is part two of a smallish series about living out your story. My story happens to include living overseas and traveling a lot, but it's really about the bigger picture; about contentment, acceptance and taking our deepest desires and fashioning a life out of them.



Deciding to embrace the adventure of living overseas brings with it a healthy dose of guilt. There is much to be gained, but also much to be lost in the process. Family, friends, and the security of the familiar to name a few. New friends show up, called Fear, Anxiety and my personal favorite, Worry. These friends will steal everything from you. When you find yourself heading towards the path of change, do not invite them along.

I am still learning this.

I've also learned to accept the fact that this desire to experience life outside the realm of comfort comes with a price. There will be tears. There will be failures. And there will be guilt when my kids want to be with their best friend on their birthday. But there will also be growth, beauty, and an ever widening view of our world as one of possibilities.

Your world is one of possibilities too. Don't let guilt or fear keep you from exploring them. Will you fail? Maybe. Will you fall down? Certainly. But you just might open the door to thing that makes your life sing.



Kimberly

Join me tomorrow to talk about finding contentment in the wandering...

This is part one of a smallish series about living out your story. My story happens to include living overseas and traveling a lot, but it's really about the bigger picture; about contentment, acceptance and taking our deepest desires and fashioning a life out of them.

For a long time it was enough to read about it. I could burrow into a character's adventure and feel as if I'd been somewhere. I could 'be' her. I could hide behind her bookcase, help her solve the crime, skin the orchard peaches, or disappear into the museum. But the stories watered the seed of wanderlust, until it wasn't enough to simply read about it.