Roots

I've had a friend staying with me the past 10 days--she and I were in Peace Corps together, and she just arrived back in the states after remaining in West Africa working since we finished in 2004. Since she's been with me, we've gone apartment hunting, furniture shopping, neighborhood sightseeing and we've caught up. And it's been great. I feel like I've been in this town long enough that you forget to get excited about the city, the neighborhoods, the newness of moving to a place after being away for so long. And it's been interesting to see her beginning to adjust to figuring out how to begin to plant roots here, and more important, how to adjust to being comfortable making decisions that will have a semi-permanent impact on where she's residing.

We were browsing the stores on 14th St today looking at furniture and homewares in some of my favorite places in the city. I found a lovely chair that I bought on impulse, she got ideas about how to slowly make her shiney new apartment her own. And as we walked out of one of the stores, she turned to me said "Now I have culture shock. This is the first time it's really set in". I asked her what she meant, and she said "it's the fact that I'm considering all this big furniture, this heavy hard to move furniture. How am I going to move it all?" I breezily replied, without much thought into her comment "Oh don't worry, all these places have delivery services--they move it for you!" She paused and said something more profound that the meaningless way in which I interpreted her comment "No, I mean, I'm buying big things, things I can't just throw in a bag and move when I'm ready to leave--I'm buying things that can't pack and travel--this feels final".

I know the way she's feeling, and I know the feelings she's struggling with. When I started law school I felt itchy and uncomfortable, thinking that this decision I was making meant that I HAD to plant roots--I could not just get up and walk away when I was ready for a new adventure. And I adjusted...until it ended. I cut off my hair a couple of weeks ago. As one unnamed person in my family once told me "honey, you're hair is your best asset". It was definitely time for a trim, it was looooong, and it's not fun to have long hair in this town in the summer because it becomes like a wool blanket. But instead of getting it trimmed, I lobbed off about 10 inches. It was liberating to a point, but it still felt...like something else needed to happen in conjunction.

I have been thinking about my decision since I did it, and was thinking about the last time I made a drastic styling decision. Exactly 6 years ago before I left the city to go to Peace Corps I walked into another fancy salon in town and had them do the same thing--cut it off--new style, new adventure. And I realized this time, the missing link is not having an adventure to go along with the style.

I've become more and more anxious about starting my job in the fall. I don't want to go back to where I'm heading, I don't know if I can live thorugh a year of working for the people who will be my bosses. Over the past month I've slowly realized the importance of joy, and happiness, and contentment in life. So, I've started exploring new options, sent some emails, have begun getting my ducks in a row, just in case I need that escape hatch if things become too bad. But unlike 6 years ago, I've also realized I've matured enough to realize that my roots no longer yank up as easily, and forcing them will merely cause peripheral destruction that is neither necessary or beneficial. But I don't think a change is far from coming-the winds are blowing in that direction as is my hair.