Life doesn’t always have to feel 100 percent right all the time. It doesn’t have to be pretty to be satisfyingly interesting and exciting.
Travel has been a way to explore my individual identity to the degree I’ve felt I lacked a communal one. Exploring my ancestry, on the other hand, addresses that basic need for a group I know is an inextricable part of the me that other family and friends press up against and shape.
The biggest takeaway from the soil of my still-living ancestors, however, is the example of who I can be and what I can create. With just a little work—a little more reaching out, I could be a family oriented woman with strong ties to anyone perched on a branch of my own or even a neighboring family tree–much like the Kelly, Johnson, or especially the Kirby women.
Sometimes travel serves no other purpose than to show us where we belong.
It’s a cliché, but one I’ve never fully grasped until today, when there’s just enough space to see that pattern and be certain I’m tired of the way it looks on me.
That’s probably what gets me in trouble a lot, right there. Thinking I have no plan when I have it mapped out step-by-step, line-by-line.
I used to loathe the industrial cranes in the Port of Los Angeles for polluting the bottom of our beautiful sunsets and today I am not sure of how I’d feel without them.