My birthdays aren’t my milestones, it’s all the different times I’ve moved…

So what happens when I stay in one place for ten years? I celebrate… BIG. And I can feel my 18 year old self judging me.

I don’t know what it’s like to grow up in a hometown, to come back to the house that I grew up in. The last time I lived in one of my childhood homes was the Christmas of grade 12. So, after college, I just kept on going – and wouldn’t allow myself to settle down. Once 2 years hit, I’d move, not necessarily on purpose. But force of habit. Nothing was permanent. I was always thinking about the “next thing”.

And, to be honest, I probably was a little proud of that. We’re always told to “bloom where you’re planted”, but I was more of a tumbleweed.

So when I moved to Baltimore in 2009, it was the same thing. Friends would ask me if I was going to buy a house here and my response was always “Well, I would if I was going to be here in the next five years, but I doubt I will be…”

The Joy of Staying
It took me a long time to resign myself to actually being in a place.

But a couple years went by… and I stopped looking to that “next thing”. And I liked it. Was this what it meant to BE someplace?

Suddenly, I could actually say to my friend’s son “I remember when you were “this big”. I could help out a visitor and rattle off place after place for a recommendation. I can tell you what 3 stores were on the corner before that 7-11. I’ve committed to 3 years on our church board (read that: THREE!). I’ve seen a community take shape and am part of those inside jokes that other friend groups always had to explain to me, the newcomer.

I began to carve out a very small history for myself and with others. And I actually saw people leave, while I stayed.

Sometimes, I get a sense here that people found my past wandering life a little strange. But now I’m starting to experience something new.

Those who understood my wanderlust life are starting to find my settled life strange.

I don’t always want to talk about the fact that I grew up in Indonesia. My family doesn’t quite understand why I don’t need to live in Oregon – where my parents retired. I have more ties here in Baltimore now than I do in Oregon. Ten years of ties. When I told my college mentors – world travelers themselves – that I celebrated 10 years, I got a bit of a hesitant ‘congrats’. And truth is, I had to work through some of the expectations of that 18 year old girl who never thought she’d settle down.

But how can a plant grow tall and bloom, if it’s moved every time it tries to root down?

I’m not going to lie. I experience phases of restlessness. In fact, this year has been one (see previous Advent post!). 10 years is daunting for someone who’s moved every two years since college. I visit another city … I have a bad week … I see an old friend … Baltimore seems very very small at times – and maybe I won’t be here next year – But reflecting this last week has made me grateful for this decade, this space, the many people I’ve come across and the many experiences that have happened because I have allowed myself to put down roots.

This may sound strange to both people who have lived in one place all their lives as well as to those who still move or travel, but this milestone is a pretty big deal for me.

So for today, this plant is here … and “I’ve got roots”.

title reference: Alice Merton “No Roots“