Rooting
From the archives
This post was originally published on March 28, 2024.
There is a plant on the windowsill of our shared office, a second bedroom turned study, filled to the brim with curios, doodads, gadgets, and sketches. The plant, I cannot recall of what variety, has lived on this sill for nearly a year. A cactus of some sort, craving sun so tremendously, she has nearly grown herself right out of the pot; a few degrees above horizontal, straining for every last bit of light. I’ve thought about repotting her, setting her upright again, but other tasks always take precedence, and I’ve half-convinced myself she is so tied to that spot, tenuous still in her existence, that to move her would be tantamount to death. She grows sideways, but she grows. Who am I to move her in the name of survival? Is she not surviving? Five green buds poke out defiantly from the black dirt as their mother grows horizontal. Is she not thriving?
I am trying to learn from her, this plant on the windowsill, about the power of staying. Rooting. Establishing deeply and firmly. The urge to flee is in my very marrow. I can feel it itching under my skin. That room on the other side of the house sparkles in the afternoon light. That nondescript, foreign city ticks on a different time zone, offers other possibilities. Everything novel, everyone new, and therefore interesting. Wouldn’t you perhaps like to go somewhere else? Try on a different version of yourself?
But, what about your roots? Rooting. Establishing deeply and firmly. Tangled red hair a million miles long knowing there are always scissors in the room over. Same job, boyfriend, zipcode. Same apartment, same meds, same last name. Not languishing, but not sprinting ahead either. Being here now. Not running because you’re bored, or uncomfortable, or scared.
I should paint the bedroom purple, I should buy new throw pillows, I should move the bed. I should join a flag football league, I should learn tai-chi, I should buy a razor scooter, I should buy a trench coat, an ipad, a boat. I should spend a day in total silence, I should go to a bar and assume an alias, I should compliment every person I see. I should lay in the musty March grass, I should run barefoot on the sidewalk, I should skinny dip in the lake, I should shave my head.
But, what about your roots? Establishing deeply and firmly instead of flitting on the quickest breeze of opinion. About taking your time with something, someone. Digging in and withstanding storms, coming back stronger, more resilient, beautiful.
Rooting is hard. It takes patience. Patience is hard for people.
Like when you check your weather app in March and groan at another 39-degree gray day. Yet, from a still and quiet place you know, just as your great grandmother felt the sting of sunshine on her July cheeks, you know. Spring is coming. Things will be different then; I will be different then.
I sit in stillnes. I am the plant on the windowsill stretching towards the sun.
Another blossoming awaits.
A special thank you to my paid subscribers who make my work possible.
debrep17, sally, bfloyd, philrgessler, adcook22, vbushell, & tracydiane