breaking and making

I have a love-hate relationship with moving.

In the first twenty years of my life, I lived in one city and one home. In the past ten years of my life, I have lived in six cities and eleven homes. This time next week, it will be six cities and twelve homes.

Sometimes I feel as though, with every move, I become a little less sure where home is. I feel a little more disoriented and a lot more ready for the day when I wake up and feel the roots planted beneath me. See, I grew up in this tiny town with roots. Deep roots, the kind that keep people around for an entire lifetime. My daddy lives in a town where everyone knows his name, and everyone knew his dad’s name, and his dad’s dad.

Some days I long for that, in a way that feels like my chest cracking open. See, I have a wild and free spirit, and I’ve known since I was young that I had a gypsy heart. But even those of us with limitless wanderlust…we feel home in our chest. And when we don’t feel home in our chest, we feel the empty space, full of question marks and doubt.

Sometimes I hate moving.

But in the same breath, moving has taught me how to decide what’s important and shed the rest. It’s taught me how to surrender what is neither beautiful nor useful.

It’s such slow learning.

Because it’s not just the tangible things. With each move, my possessions, my “needs” dwindle and dwindle. I’ve learned how to travel lightly, how to live lightly, where material things are concerned. My tastes are simple and my needs few, most days.

But oh, to leave behind a season. To hold people loosely, knowing that sometimes, our people are part of one season and not as much a part of the next. To not look back at the roads that got closed off when I chose another. To let myself open the door and walk out of the places where I no longer fit. To evaluate my life, to look at the things and people I’ve chosen to fill my life with, and to actively choose not to close my hand on what is no longer either bringing me joy or growing me. To leave behind what doesn’t have the weight of something that feels like eternity.

Those parts are hard.

Those parts are growing up in slow motion.

Those parts are breaking me and making me in the same moments.

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