New Roots

There is this beautiful ocean pathway along the Atlantic in Maine called the Marginal Way. Walking along it, you can't help but breathe in the salt of the ocean and spot the gulls at play. I don't remember a single thing about its history or even the details of the times I walked it, but I have this photo hanging in a white frame against the textured white wall of my bedroom that I took on one of those treks that shows a lovely leaf-covered tunnel, colored with New England's finest fall colors. I remember the man at the photo printing store (yes, this was prior to the digital age) telling me that the bottom was a bit blurry and it was probably the result of some residue on my camera lens at the time I snapped the picture. (That doesn't have much to do with what I'm about to say, but I'll allow it to serve as my little tangent memory for the post.)

At any rate, I feel like life has gone a bit pear-shaped over the past two weeks (thank you Sweet Home Alabama for that way of looking at life when its messy); I feel out of sorts which has much to do with a complete week of crazy two weeks back, then the following seven days I limited the insanity, yet presently suffer from an overwhelming sense of depletion. Five friends have called that I need to catch up with--I can't bring myself to respond, I keep thinking that a work-out will help--I'm immobilized from shear indecision, I know I'd feel better if I just took care of the cluttered stacks of  paper around my room--but really, why would I want to file today? So, I'm productively staring at the wall and find my gaze settling on this photograph while my memory meanders back to the time I moved to Boston.

I don't remember questioning the decision or even feeling super concerned about the lack of relationships I had in the Northeast  (Oh, let's think... None). Yet, I've just made a decision to stay in Florida -- details to come in the nearer future -- and I think what I'm experiencing is loss. It is very normal to face this with any major change in life, but I think it snuck up on me. I'm really excited about the 'why' when it comes to staying; but the meaning of the change isn't lost on me this time around. I'm not going back to my relationships, my apartment, my city, the Charles River, my favorite restaurants, the seasons, the Public Garden, my office (with the door!), the Red Line, my church... I've already left.

I have to grow new roots. It's like the tunnel in the picture: it is really beautiful to look at, but I'm unsure if I want to walk into and through it. What if I don't like what is on the other side? The pathway is a bit blurry at the bottom and my uncertainty, in the midst of faith, grows.

Two months ago, I was talking with the president of my organization about the outcomes of following the Lord and how I previously grew so close to a community of friends who became my 'family' in Boston. He compassionately said that perhaps it was indeed time for me to establish roots with a new family. At the time, I remember thinking this was true and it really is now.

Praying to thrive where I'm planted. And so goes the story of laying new roots.