Sunday night. Holed up at home. Desperately avoiding to-do lists.
Day 88 (but who’s counting?) until departure.
I visited a recommended link and landed in the middle of Cheri Lucas’ thoughts: “Roots vs. Wanderlust: On Home, Accumulation & What’s Missing.”
I’ve wrestled deeply with these themes during our season of preparation.
I’m a designer. A cook. A homemaker, too. In Jr. High, I purchased my own subscription to then-brand-new Home and Garden Television. When Cheri writes about the arrival of the CB2 catalog and visions of housewarming parties and guest bedrooms, I know instinctively what she means. That tug of the heart toward a cultivated place. A home that cannot simply spring up overnight, but rather grows slowly, evolving from time and attention, investment and use.
Even as we’ve steered away from mortgages in favor of ship cabins and known the decisions were right, I’ve still craved a back yard and soil of our own. An alternate reality. A life with “a place for everything and everything in it’s place” (as my grandma says).
But we’re saying goodbye to place and things. And I don’t know if or how to imagine resuming a physically rooted lifestyle on the other side of this experience.
And Cheri, too, acknowledges the connundrums.
When she reflects on memories and on picnics, alleys, and reading books aloud, savoring the slow pace of days abroad, I think about the plans we have for life on the road.
Especially lately, as we are parting with possessions and preparing for a nomadic year, I’m challenged to release my home-based rituals. It’s no secret among my friends that I’ve experienced a strange disequilibrium in the kitchen, watching the seasons change without preserving food for winter and letting empty mason jars leave my doors in the arms of new stewards.
Dwelling . . . inhabiting . . . settling: each so very good.
Wandering, exploring, waving goodbye: the cadence of story very different.
Our roots cannot be entwined in the things of life, but the connection to family and friends, the relationships longer lasting and more deeply meaningful than any accumulation of possessions or pinpointed place.
So home, as it seems, remains in our hearts.
It’s unforeseen how these mixed desires and decisions will meld into one, cohesive, future life. For now, I’m learning the value of the full heart and outstretched, empty hand: ready to give, and ready to receive.