Many of my relocations stemmed from evolving aspirations about my life’s direction. In Seattle, during the peak of the grunge movement, I sported purple-streaked hair while pursuing studies in the music industry. Later in Burbank, California, I ventured into the realm of film production as an intern, adjusting to the constant sunshine and the polished demeanor of my colleagues. In Maine, my hair was cropped short and dyed burgundy while I worked as a barista before securing a communications position with the local hockey team. Whenever boredom or anxiety crept in, I reinvented myself, attempting to merge my diverse creative passions into a sustainable existence.
By my mid-20s, I began to settle down. Perhaps it was an awakening biological clock or sheer exhaustion from constant moving, but I started to gather candles and picture frames that caught my eye at flea markets and Cost Plus World Market. I envisioned a home—a cozy space where candlelight danced off tiny round mirrors adorning embroidered purple throw pillows. I dreamt of a loft in Oregon, a quaint cabin in Washington’s woods, or a Victorian carriage house in New England—something small, exotic, and tranquil.
Now, fifteen years later, I find myself in a spacious suburban home with my husband and our two children. Since getting married, my husband and I have moved twice, the latest being just over a year ago. The cardboard boxes that once accompanied my coast-to-coast moves have long been recycled. Instead, we’ve accumulated items: remnants from our children’s birthday parties, their artwork, dust-covered books, and in the still-sealed boxes in our basement, the vibrant Moroccan lanterns that belong to a younger, more free-spirited version of me.
We reside on a quiet cul-de-sac and have committed to staying put until our children are grown. We are firmly rooted.
Yet, perhaps due to the relentless Maine winters, I’ve felt weighed down by the suburban lifestyle we’ve adopted. Our calendar is filled with dentist appointments and our son’s tae kwon do classes. The serene but sterile celery-colored walls and practical beige carpets surround us. While our children benefit from an excellent educational system and a stable life, I occasionally lament the weight of this existence. I feel anchored by the roots that have taken hold.
Reflecting on my younger, more transient self amazes me. She drifted from place to place, leaving friends, family, and opportunities behind like dandelion seeds on a breeze. Her life brimmed with freedom and spontaneity.
Of course, we could still uproot ourselves. Downsizing is a possibility. I often fantasize about selling everything and whisking the kids away to Spain for a season, reinventing ourselves like Madonna. Just as I did in my youth.
And who knows, maybe we will—I still surprise myself. I ventured into hot yoga last spring as a nod to my impending 40th birthday and discovered a newfound passion as my mind quieted and my body became more flexible. I’ve transitioned from an aspiring writer to a published one, achieving a lifelong dream. In recent years, I’ve also embraced running and meditation. Even as we remain anchored, we reach out and adapt, striving not to become too entrenched in our routines, although parts of us relish the stability of our chosen lives.
What I truly miss, perhaps, is not just change or freedom, but the sense that I could escape and recreate my existence elsewhere when life becomes challenging. Because let’s face it: life is often tough—whether it’s receiving an email about our son’s behavior at school, dealing with property tax bills, or worrying about the health of our aging parents.
While the nomadic life may have seemed more thrilling, it lacked the happiness I now possess. I enjoy many of the things that younger me yearned for: a fulfilling creative career, a loving partner, wonderful children, and a supportive circle of friends. Additionally, I have something she never anticipated wanting—the strength to remain grounded when times get tough or monotonous. I have a life that’s not overwhelmingly open-ended.
The key, I believe, is to stay rooted yet not root-bound. To be planted while allowing room for flexibility and growth. I must recognize that this busy chapter of life, which sometimes makes me feel confined, is the life I desired.
This article was originally published on May 13, 2015.
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Summary
In this reflective piece, Jessica Taylor discusses her journey from a carefree, nomadic lifestyle to settling down in suburban life with her family. Though she appreciates the stability and love in her current life, she occasionally feels the weight of routine and longs for the freedom of her younger self. Ultimately, she recognizes the importance of being rooted while allowing for growth and change.