Thank you for being here. This is Root Inward as written by Meredith White. This space recognizes spirit, of taking our time, and of building community around art-making and sustained practice. Please consider becoming a paid subscriber so as to directly support my writing. A portion of these proceeds go to Weelaunee Forest in Atlanta each month.
This time last year I was plotting my escape to the west coast, somehow, someway. I imagined myself lounging on the beach, near my modular home with white walls and wooden furniture and minimal aesthetic. I imagined the life I could be living, far away from the life I was currently living. I imagined that things would be easier if I could just put some physical distance between me, Atlanta, its problems, my problems, everything I was facing with my family, and all of the job potentials that accounted to missed connections.
I sit here with my bleed, my body signaling one last big shed is in order while moving into 2024. The week’s transition has allowed me the time to tear out the linoleum flooring in my kitchen. I moved plants from plastic containers to ceramic ones; I picked out paint swatches for my living room and hallway; I slept and watched 2 seasons of the OC; I picked up my needle to finish the hand-stitching on my Root Inward quilt and pretty immediately set it back down. I created a large bag of clothes, tchotchkes, and quilts to bring to my booth.
I currently pull up the 30+ year old carpet on my stairs while on the cusp of turning 31 myself and laugh. I laugh at the thought that moving away was going to fix my desire of more, of finding sustenance I couldn’t already provide myself with attention and care. I realize how much I love my home in these moments. I realize how much I love my body in these moments. I realize how closely intertwined the two have become.
I moved into this house the day after Christmas in 2018 to get out of an abusive relationship. My mom helped me pack up what little belongings I had and my snake and a ton of plants into this house I found on Craigslist that had a ton of potential, although severely neglected. It was such a testament to my relationship to self, to my inner landscape being mirrored by my physical surroundings.
I was completely unknowing of the promise of light that streams through the windows of different hours during different seasons with magic. I was unknowing that I would be here during the start of a global pandemic alongside my saturn return alongside my first time living alone alongside some of the biggest protests I have ever been a part of. I was unknowing of how my proximity to this house was going to shift my perspective on how I live my life forever.
I found beekeeping with Deb in the red house on the corner. I found the herb and vegetable garden with my downstairs housemate Paul that sometimes gets ravished by squirrels burying acorns. I found Bilbo running down the street by my sister’s house who is my absolute best friend. I lost and found myself countless times over.
This house has seen every iteration of me in transition from abuse-to sobriety-to queerness-to non-monogamy-to broke-to depression-to dismantling-to starting anew- to learning how to garden- to finding myself again-to what now. I moved my studio in-and-out and back-in-again. I had my own room, I shared a room with a partner, and have my own room again. I bought my first couch from Wayfair here and then donated it to my neighbor Tasha’s son for his college apartment when the leg became wobbly. I collected frames from thrift stores to hang work from my favorite artists like Lukaza and Anna and Fariha and Olly and my own work. I bought myself a new bed that I pay for every month. I look around at my space, as beautiful and imperfect as it is, and I witness my own growth.
I’m at this interesting meeting place where my lease runs up in March. I’ve been fantasizing about what it would be like to move into a place that isn’t slightly crooked so the furniture wouldn’t have to be situated just right to be stable. I’ve been thinking about what it would mean to have doors that shut properly and a kitchen that’s bigger than a closet. I’ve been thinking about what it would feel like to live in a space where the yard is manicured and the street isn’t busy with city traffic, cops, and firemen blaring sirens through all hours of the night.
I love the vision of refining, of more, of different. Yet, I lost a good chunk of my realty last year when I lost the thread of gratitude for what was showing up for me in the current moment. My home may not be out of a magazine, and the items tucked inside do not always hold meaning to someone outside of my experience, but they hold so much to me.
I lost a bit of myself this last year — thinking I wasn’t enough just as I am with the belongings I have and the life that I call home. I sit in this moment and am reminded just how beautiful the life I’ve created is. I’m reminded how sacred it is to exist in this pocket of time. I’m reminded how grateful I am to be able to show up in practice with desire and yearning to continue to make every single day.
This work; this body; this home are miraculous. As I reset my practice for what 2024 may hold, I’m reminded of what I possess within me that allows me to build towards alignment. I’m reminded that these gifts are fleeting, and I must stay attuned to the practice of witnessing and sharing and loving in order to continue to foster its growth.
For now, I will stay in my home. I will stay in this body. I will celebrate turning another year older close to home, at my favorite Korean spa, and with pasta and tiramisu for dinner. Instead of a flight to carry me far away, I will buy myself a kitchen hutch to foster my connection to the herbs I wish to grow in my yard this year so as to be carried inside for medicine-making. I will paint the crooked walls and cook in my tiny kitchen. I will love my home deeper. I will love myself deeper.
For now, I am here. Isn’t that all we have anyways?
With Care,
growing where you are planted ~~~~~~
i'm with you <3