I moved 30 times in a decade. I never set down roots. Having a child changed all that. Anchoring myself, I became roots for her to grow, and am forever grateful to have learned that where I am is okay. That a person can remain in a single room if need be and hold happiness.
(Redcedar roots atop glacial erratic rocks from some of my Whatcom County hikes)
Roots grow and tether the Earth. Illusion of stable, solid matrix is my home haunted by ever-present threat of quake. Drawing inward, I soak nutrients to my core.
Wanderlust frees my portable curiosity anywhere afield. Tastes, smells, sights, sounds teach me courage, open heart, camaraderie with fear.
If money were no object, wanderlust would be my home. Instead I ready my child to roam. This life she inherits is her own, this globe of roots her new-found realm.
A recipe I created for my “ideal” life includes both roots and wanderlust. My vision includes two rooms. Small, simple shelter, roots from which to wander. I would like to explore natural places anywhere, am willing to work and serve others as part of travel, my only limit being my as yet uncured potentially life-threatening allergies to animal dander making working on a farm or staying in lodging with pets untenable until that changes. Finding a cure has been a lifelong goal. Maybe travel will lead me to that cure.
It has been decades since I’ve had opportunity to travel, so here is a photo cluster from life-changing travel to Japan I did almost 30 years ago. Should I be blessed to live long enough, my wanderlust will resume when I am responsible for supporting only myself.