Movement and Roots

A few weeks ago, I packed up and moved. I almost added “again” to the end of that sentence, because there have been a lot of moves, a lot of movement.

How do you make routine, make meaning, stay grounded when everything changes every few weeks? How do you be when all is change, adjustment, movement? These are the questions I’ve been asking myself.

I am grateful to be grounded within a community. I may be moving around, but for now, I can still bake a pie for a friend in need in a borrowed kitchen. I can still be present to those around me, and somehow through that, be present to myself.

Perhaps unexpectedly, early mornings at the office, before others arrive, have become a place to reintegrate some of the practices of the last nine months. Quietly humming morning prayer, murmuring psalms (who would have thought that I’d willingly say morning prayer again after saying it at 6am every day in Boston?).

There’s also the sustenance of hope, of dreaming about the near future. There’s the excitement of having my own room again for an academic year, the planning of which plants will adorn my windowsill, the eagerness of recovering some of my clothes from storage.

For now, I’m in a time of movement, of change. But this transition has roots that are just beginning to reveal themselves. And for that, I am grateful.

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