Learning from our Roots
When I was a kid I lived in southern Louisiana. I am well acquainted with hurricane season, the Saints, and I know authentic gumbo when I taste it. I attended Fish fries, camp outs, and I once had a pet chicken. I was, for all intents and purposes, a Cajun… I didn’t know anything else.
You know, in hindsight, all of the highlights blend together. It wasn’t parties every day, it wasn’t people hanging out in overalls. We just lived. I chased fireflies, I was barefoot, I climbed trees and helped my mom with her garden.
What I love most is how these activities have stuck with me. They were my life. In every place I’ve lived, I notice where the climbable trees are, I want room for plants, I pull the car over abruptly to show my kids fireflies. And to my husband’s dismay, I plan on having chickens again someday.
My hobbies, in a very real sense, are my roots. I don’t just mean cultural roots, though many bring back fond memories of Louisiana. I mean tree roots… like the things that anchor a tree and provide it with nutrients. Roots are the things that give trees a fighting chance during a storm. Roots sometimes feel like private parts of ourselves, because they aren’t achievement driven, they are results driven.
Hobbies may not come with paychecks, but they connect us. Maybe it helps you make new friends after a move, maybe it helps you through a loss, or perhaps it’s there to catch you when you need to connect with yourself again.
