Retracing Your Roots
I was raised in the woods of upstate New York and was raised from a pack of wonderful and weird women, and I was fortunate to spend the afternoon with them the other week. My sisters, mom, and I were a juggernaut of blonde-haired women wherever we went. Although they still know how to humble me, I have a blast with them because we all inherited my mother’s sense of humor. My family is the type that will start dancing in the dairy section of a grocery store if Michael Jackson if comes on.
I was pretty overworked and overwhelmed by taking a day off to be with them, but the feeling of my stomach hurting from laughing so much on the way down to Coney Island got me to forget about all the work I was neglecting. We got out and walked on the beach by the calm Atlantic in the blustery air. I had a sense of tranquility I hadn’t felt in a while, a lightness and laughter I had almost left behind. My family reminds me how important it is to be brought back to your roots, remind yourself of parts forgotten or grown out of ( like how my sister reminded me I used to eat Lucky Charms marshmallows in order of the song).
I miss them the most when I travel. They are the hardest leaving sometimes because I feel like I’m abandoning them. But I know that if I stayed, I wouldn’t be true to myself and it helps me relish and appreciate the times I do get to be with them. I get to come back with stories for them to listen to and laugh about how I made a fool of myself abroad.