From the top of my head

Way too often,  I find my mind and feelings all tangled up, like a ball of  yarn, left for a playful kitten to play with. A big mess and it’s so hard to find the beginning or end of the string, and I’m tempted to cut through the whole thing. 

Not really possible, but if I only could find the freaking start! And then sometimes things add up, or that’s not quite true, sometimes small glimpses of  realization comes though . 

I always thought I was restless, what if it isn’t restlessness but rootless? Think about it, they are so related, but restlessness is a legal feeling, I’m restless, is way more safe to say than I’m feeling rootless. Restlessness is my own problem, where rootlessness is the fact that somewhere in my past I cut my own roots because I had to leave a n environment I couldn’t thrive in. 

I never thought of this until today where I read my new garden book and started rewatching chef’s table and made a horrible discovery in my daughter’s desk drawer. 

I grew up in the countryside, spending a lot of time at my grandparents, seeing their garden grow and thrive, helping my grandmother cook or bake.  I loved every moment of it, remembering how there was stamped walking paths in the garden, my grandfather’s vegetables and berries and my grandmother’s flowers.  A true old school garden, and not like the ones I seen now. But this new book refreshed my memory of it. I bought it because I’m fascinated by urban gardening and want to improve my own skills in this direction. 

Growing even more herbs and vegetables, for the cooking I really love doing. All the time spend I the kitchen as a kid, made me a grow up who shows my love through food and baked goods. 

Now I live in the city, and i love it here, but I’m longing for a piece of silk to call my own, to grow fruit, vegetables, berries and flowers, and by doing that growing my own roots, new roots, healthy ones. 

And hopefully my kids will benefit from my growth, and start growing their own roots, the right places in life. Not that repotting isn’t a good thing, it is, but it has to be at the right time and into a better pot. 

And then why don’t I just move out of the city? Because the very thought scares the shit out of me! 

So now I’m beginning my rooting journey here in my current place, which is also my safe space. 

Never promised anything from my head would make sense, but maybe writing these things down, helps me untangle the mess?