I've been thinking a lot about roots lately. You don't realize how deep your roots are until you tug on them from 4,000 miles away. But with the rare and precious collection of family and friends that I've accumulated, my taut heartstrings in Hawaii come as no surprise.
The renegade marble rolling around in my head has been about the width, rather than depth of my roots.
I think a lot about my family history and childhood geography when I hear the word roots. I think of a biological birthplace, because we often put down roots where we are born. Regardless of whether we stay there physically, where we come from informs where we have arrived and will go next. And hopefully we receive some kind of emotional sustenance in the form of memories and relationships from that original root system. But we are born and re-born in so many places, in so many ways over the course of our lives. And that's where the wingspan of our roots comes in.
Where were you the first time you felt free to make your own decisions? Where did you first feel connected to a power that was bigger than you? Where were you when you found enough stability and grounding in your heart to anchor someone else through a blustery season in theirs? Something real, something vital to your you-ness was born in each of those places. And each time a part of you is birthed, that experience puts down roots.
Wallpaper your life with those birth certificates to remind you of how many ways you have come to inhabit this body, this life, this now. And never stop collecting them. Your mansion sized heart has so many dusty rooms just waiting for you to kick the door down and reclaim their space. Nurture the newest birthplaces, the youngest roots, so that they can grow deep. But keep your eyes scanning the horizon for new things to say yes to, because we collect birth certificates in the exhilarating unknown. In in those yes-es, our roots gain their wingspan.