On Being Grounded

I was 'uprooted' from the place I called home when I was nine years old.

Nine years doesn't really seem like a lot of time in the whole scheme of things. People move around a lot - to pick up and move a young, adaptable family doesn't really seem an unreasonable thing to do. And it isn't. Except ...

Throughout my adult years, I have often wondered where I belong.

I made many connections and friendships to the place we moved when I was 9. I went to school, made friends, got married, worked, got divorced and I wondered if that was truly where I belonged.

When I married, I thought I would 'belong' in that family. It sounds rather morbid, but there is something rather peaceful about knowing where you would be buried. As a wife, I thought I would be buried beside my husband. I knew where I would belong.

But the marriage didn't last. This new city felt like a lonely place to be buried for 'eternity'. I took stock of my life and I wondered "Where do I belong? ... Where is my true home? .... Where are my roots?"

Life's journey has taken me back closer to my roots. In the first few decades since that move closer to 'home', I still wondered where I belonged. I have made many friends and connections within the boundaries of this city ... but I don't truly belong here.

Last fall, I took a stroll through our the old home place on our farm. There was a complete sense of peace within me, as we walked the paths of my early childhood. I only lived there for the first 9 years of my life, but that is where I was rooted.

The past few years, I have ventured further into my family's history. I have talked to all of Mom's siblings and put together their story. As I talked to each of my aunts, I felt a piece of me in each of them. I was discovering pieces of the patchwork quilt which created the person, which is 'me'. I was discovering that my roots weren't so much where I was planted, but the family from which I was a part of.

Recently, I have started researching my Dad's side of the family story. Most of Dad's family have remained 'rooted' in the town where I went to school. Our home town.

As I talked to my uncle and he spoke fondly and familiarly about 'The Hills' in which their family was raised, I was truly feeling the connection to the family as well as the geography of his memories. As he referred to the hills by name, I knew that he was talking about home.

As the conversations with my aunts, uncles and my own family resonate within me I am feeling a solid connection to my past. My past is now connected to my present day life and I'm looking towards the future with a knowing that I've come home again.

We may be transplanted in life, but there is a true sense of belonging when you settle in and are comfortable in the life where your roots run deep.

Home is where the heart is ... but our roots keep us grounded.