Living
There are some people who enter your life to enrich it. To bestow some magic upon an ordinary day, or in this case just an ordinary moment.
I recently met someone new. A potential design client that I stumbled upon in a serendipitous way. She was sitting at a small outdoor table on the town square eating lunch and taking a break from renovating her upcoming business. Before I ever spoke to her, I noticed her and her family eating together. Their table was covered with plates upon plates of fresh fruit and pastries. She was drinking coffee from a dainty antique teacup. She was wearing a floral apron. I liked it instantaneously. She's just one of those.
At first I walked by them and went into another store, but I couldn't stop thinking about her. I wanted to meet her. I had heard about her new business - a coffee shop type place that also offers some baking lessons. After making my rounds around the square I gathered some courage, walked over, and introduced myself. I'm not shy, but I don't walk around throwing myself at strangers.
I was greeted warmly. I offered my services for any of their design needs with the new business and the conversation organically shifted to our backgrounds - hers and mine. Turns out she's a nomad as well. We related on not quite being able to put down roots the way we would like to. I've realized lately that my transient lifestyle brings me down sometimes. I never allow myself to fully settle in. We never paint walls or plant very many things because our stays are always temporary. I spend too much time lusting over the future when we can build our own house and I can have a huge garden and one hundred bird feeders (and starting that pumpkin patch that Ben still doesn't really know about.) It's time well wasted.
She understood this. I told her how I long to plant things and watch them grow for years. I told her that all I want is to plant a tree and see it grow big. This is when it happened. The reason I was drawn to her and the reason we were meant to meet. She looked me right in the eyes and with an unwavering voice said, "You have to live where you are."
You have to live where you are.
I couldn't fully live where we were planted until we moved back home. I tried, renovating the houses in two towns in Alabama. I kept myself busy with little home-based businesses and volunteer school work with the girls. Before we left the last town, my sister decided to spruce up our yard. She designed a perennial bed and planted shasta daisies, red hot pokers, and several other pretty flowers. For a couple of years they were delightful. Still, I didn't take her initiative to keep planting. I didn't want roots there, literally or figuratively.
ReplyDeleteDid I miss out? I suppose I did. I have only a few friends I keep connected with on Facebook. Never really let myself fit in. I wasn't about the Mommy Thing with the vans (though I had one) or big suburbans and adult sororities like the Junior League and the Athena League. Those felt sophomore-ish and trite. I longed for gardens and conversations over tea or wine. I wanted friendships with nomads and transients and people like me who didn't fit in. I didn't want to hear about vacations and kids grades and husbands' hobbies. I wanted someone to ask me what I did for a living and not what my husband did. I wanted to hear what people thought about life and taboo subjects like politics and religion. I wanted friends who were brave enough to speak out for their passions.
I found most of what I was looking for on our farm in this small town. I found real people with lives beyond social groups. I found a place to put down deep, deep roots. I found solace in the land with its beauty and sustainability. My plants are thriving. And I have finally found an outlet for my restless intellect. Or rather, I have found several outlets. I am heartened by each new person I meet who adds to the beautiful tapestry of life here; I welcome a different perspective, a different background. I also am sustained by my editor, who believes in me and allows me to share my thoughts aloud with the newspaper audience, and my online writer friends, who share with me the world in ways I could never experience from our little farm. I need them like I need those friends around me who dig for plants in the wild, who cook fabulous meals to share and who play cards on Friday nights. Altogether, it is a wonderful life.