I can't sleep. I'm thinking about roots. The kind that keep you in one place. The kind that you might not realize are there until you try and move. Literally, move.
I'll have been in this town for 15 years come October. That's one hell of a stay.
I remember distinctly what I said to him when we decided to move here. "Can we just commit to staying at least 1 year?" One year. What did I know? I was a fucking kid. I thought that going from one place to another at that point was being a gypsy. I was just being a fucking kid. Finding where to lay down my roots. And here they are. 15 years deep in this place I couldn't think to call anything else other than home.
So why even think about moving? Why leave? I have at least a hundred reasons to stay. And maybe three to leave. There isn't enough room or patience to count the stays, so let's list the go's.
1) ...
2) ...
3) ...
Yeah.
The thing is, an idea latches on. An idea is like a burr. You're not sure where you picked it up from but there it is. Stuck to your clothes. And now you have to deal with it. Sometimes it's more like a tick. It really has a hold of you and even after it's gone, you still think about it, unable to get rid of the essence of the thing.
It doesn't have to be bloodthirsty. It doesn't have to be a parasite. Ugh. These are horrible analogies. It's just that once you realize how embedded you are in a place, how do you go to another place? What is the feeling you should have when you leave to go somewhere else? How much does the hurt and aching and weirdness and anxiety and insecurity have to overwhelm you in order for you to know it's the wrong decision vs. the right one? If you're so rooted in a place, isn't it going to hurt no matter what? How do you know if you're making the right choice?
Sometimes I think, "If only I were younger." Which is promptly followed with, "What a bullshit excuse." (Gotta love these internal monologues)
Sometimes I think, "What a great opportunity. How cool is this story going to be when D is older?" And that's it - the draw is the story. The adventure. The "fuck it all" attitude. The "who knows what will happen? I can't wait." attitude.
And so:
1) Who knows?
2) This is going to be fun!
3) If it doesn't work out? So be it.
Unfortunately, curling of the toes does not equal up-rooting and then the question is, how hard do you pull? What is the easiest, most humane way to transplant this human and her family? There probably is no way and the only way is just close your eyes and do it.
