I have trouble understanding people who grew up in one town their entire lives. There’s this motivation there to stay, to throw down roots, that I’m not sure I have in me.
Some background on me: My dad was a preacher for the United Methodist Church. The great UMC has an itinerate preacher philosophy. For those unfamiliar with that particular philosophy, it boils down to rotating pastors through different churches so that one man doesn’t have an undue influence on the congregation. I guess they figure that they can share what they need to share in a few years and then move on. I bring this up because it’s due to this itinerate philosophy that I’ve never lived in one town for longer than 4 years (and that was an exceptionally long stay).
When you move around a lot, you tend not to define home as a place but rather as who you know. Family is home, regardless of what house you’re in, what town you’re in, or what state you’re in. And, to a lesser degree, friends are home too.
This view of home as a who and not a what has some strange ways of showing up.
For instance, I have little to no desire to decorate my home. In fact, it always feels wrong when I do. My friends make fun of me for how blank my walls are, how my shelves really only hold dust, and how my apartment doesn’t really reflect my personality at all. I usually shrug that off. It’s easier than explaining to them that a large part of me doesn’t view the walls around me as permanent at all, and that my apartment really can’t be all that empty if they’re there.
When I look at decorations, I see one more thing I’ll have to pack into a box and move. I might even have to move them up a flight of stairs next time. I never buy heavy decorations.
Another weird way my wandering childhood (that’s not really fair, we’ll call it a wandering life) shows up is a sort of wanderlust. It sits there, skimming below the surface of my conscious thoughts, telling me that I should be, could be, want to be elsewhere. The longer I live in one place, the stronger the feeling gets. Driving on road trips, walking places, just moving, feels right somehow. I’ve put nearly 6 thousand miles on my motorcycle since buying it last summer. I put 40 thousand miles on my car in two years. There’s something placating about watching the road skim beneath my wheels, something freeing about it. I wonder, sometimes, if I’m running from something or running to something.
The road trips are really just Band-Aids, ways of suppressing something that gets stronger as the days pass.
I started this post by saying that I didn’t understand people who grew up in one place. What I didn’t add was that I envy them. I want that feeling of solid ground beneath my feet, the ability to think about buying a house without feeling chains wrap around my wrists and ankles, that breadth of community that one only obtains after years spent living with people. I want all that, and all of it terrifies me.
My dad calls me a sojourner. I wonder if sojourners ever get to settle down.
Some background on me: My dad was a preacher for the United Methodist Church. The great UMC has an itinerate preacher philosophy. For those unfamiliar with that particular philosophy, it boils down to rotating pastors through different churches so that one man doesn’t have an undue influence on the congregation. I guess they figure that they can share what they need to share in a few years and then move on. I bring this up because it’s due to this itinerate philosophy that I’ve never lived in one town for longer than 4 years (and that was an exceptionally long stay).
When you move around a lot, you tend not to define home as a place but rather as who you know. Family is home, regardless of what house you’re in, what town you’re in, or what state you’re in. And, to a lesser degree, friends are home too.
This view of home as a who and not a what has some strange ways of showing up.
For instance, I have little to no desire to decorate my home. In fact, it always feels wrong when I do. My friends make fun of me for how blank my walls are, how my shelves really only hold dust, and how my apartment doesn’t really reflect my personality at all. I usually shrug that off. It’s easier than explaining to them that a large part of me doesn’t view the walls around me as permanent at all, and that my apartment really can’t be all that empty if they’re there.
When I look at decorations, I see one more thing I’ll have to pack into a box and move. I might even have to move them up a flight of stairs next time. I never buy heavy decorations.
Another weird way my wandering childhood (that’s not really fair, we’ll call it a wandering life) shows up is a sort of wanderlust. It sits there, skimming below the surface of my conscious thoughts, telling me that I should be, could be, want to be elsewhere. The longer I live in one place, the stronger the feeling gets. Driving on road trips, walking places, just moving, feels right somehow. I’ve put nearly 6 thousand miles on my motorcycle since buying it last summer. I put 40 thousand miles on my car in two years. There’s something placating about watching the road skim beneath my wheels, something freeing about it. I wonder, sometimes, if I’m running from something or running to something.
The road trips are really just Band-Aids, ways of suppressing something that gets stronger as the days pass.
I started this post by saying that I didn’t understand people who grew up in one place. What I didn’t add was that I envy them. I want that feeling of solid ground beneath my feet, the ability to think about buying a house without feeling chains wrap around my wrists and ankles, that breadth of community that one only obtains after years spent living with people. I want all that, and all of it terrifies me.
My dad calls me a sojourner. I wonder if sojourners ever get to settle down.
Comments
The whole time I was in high school I knew I would leave. I had friends who served in the military and came right back to Monroe when they got out.
All I know is that I couldn't have stayed there. And even today, the thought of moving back terrifies me.
I've lived in Palm Bay, Florida for ten years now. That's the longest I've ever lived in one town in my life. Part of me, and my wife feels the same way, is ready to move to a new place.
But we take care of her handicapped mother and sister here and we couldn't afford to moved two households.
That desire, or urge, to move on, though, is still there and it's strong. I think we're born with it, like blond hair and blue eyes. We just do our best here, knowing if we CAN'T move, then God still isn't finished with us here.
After that big ramble, I guess I don't have a point really, except to say, I understand how you feel.
My life hasn't been as changeable as yours, but I think it's something we can't control, this urge to keep moving. It's why some people stayed East while others went to California and Oregon 150 years ago. My Mother and Sister cannot comprehend this. Their innate desire is the "sameness" of living in one town forever.
Oh well. I love me a good road trip too. Lovely Wife and I get out and just drive sometimes. It helps quiet the beast.
Well, that and the fact that they're horribly, horribly expensive.
thanks for the post Tom
How are you? I'm going to be flying your way this summer. Thought that was funny. Me and all six of the dumpling/rice cake/professional pillow fighters.
I'm still trying to get back to your poem. I really like it when people read my poetry. I want to return the favor, and perhaps think of something especially insightful to say. :)
Being at home in Christ sounds like common sense, but it's surprisingly easy to forget.
Merry Mama,
Hopefully it's clear when you fly out. The north cascades are amazing on a clear day. They make up for their small size with their rugged good looks, much like me, without the rugged good looks bit.
Or, you find a wonderful woman that will share the desire you have to travel and you will spend your money and time travelling rather than decorating. Either way, you will find that urgency to move and see things fullfilled if you have a special someone to do them with. Man or woman, I'm not judging:)
Take care, Tom. Oh, why has your family been in Post Falls for so long if your dad gets moved around every 4 years or so?
So, if I get this right, when I get married my house will get decorated for me? Will I be required to participate in said decorating? If have to participate, that will seriously cut into my not-decorating time (which I guard jealously).
As to why my parents are still in Post Falls, the short answer is that my dad isn't a preacher anymore. So, with no church telling him to move, he doesn't.