I find uprooting difficult. This really became apparent when I was an undergrad. During those first few days back at school in the fall or at home in the summer, I would often wake up feeling lost. The context of my life had changed overnight, and suddenly all of the people and landmarks around which I normally structured my day were gone. It was disorienting, but I adjusted after a while.
When I studied in Santa Fe during my junior year, the feeling was much stronger, and lasted for weeks. The landscape had a lot to do with this. I felt as though I had traveled to another planet. The land, the adobe houses, the dust all glowed bright red-brown, brilliant against the deep blue desert sky and scrubby, green-black clumps of junipers. The Sangre de Cristos loomed larger than any mountains I'd ever seen. It was beautiful, but so, so alien. I was used to being tucked between small, forested hills, a blanket of clouds overhead. Maple trees. Apple farms. Snow drifts. The Northeast. I was living with friends from school, but outside of our apartment, everything was unfamiliar.
I had a similar reaction to very different circumstances when we moved to Cambridge last fall. The landscape was not at all foreign. In fact, the move felt like a geographic homecoming, since my family has always vacationed in New England, and the landscape is similar here to that in rural New York.
We had some friends in the area, but the whole community I'd been a part of at college was gone. I went to work, I came home. My co-workers were friendly, but I still felt lost. And loss. It took a long time to get over the feeling. Months. Finally, I think I realized that I wasn't busy enough. I had shied away from commitments since moving in because I thought that what I wanted was extended, guilt-free leisure time. No homework hanging over my head. No evening meetings to go to. Unencumbered weekends. The dream that every college student dreams during finals week.
But sometime in the spring, I finally realized that all of that free time left me feeling empty. I needed commitments, I needed to be a part of more things. So I began new projects at work, and started taking yoga. Then I applied for grad school. Classes began last week. I'm busy now. Things are rushed, and the weekends are no longer entirely my own. I have papers to write, and sometimes it's overwhelming.
But all in all, I feel so much better. The more I do, the more connected I feel, like I'm rooting myself. Busy can mean happy. It's not just stress. It's thriving.
