Rooted Rootlessness

It’s a dilemma.

I have not felt fully at home in this world very often.
And yet, occasionally, I do.

Lately, I’ve been concentrating intensely on what I believe may be my life’s work for the remainder of my years on this planet. But even while moving toward that vision, I still find myself wrestling with a strange tension:
feeling stuck in some ways, while simultaneously not feeling like I truly belong anywhere.

I suppose that’s one reason I’ve always loved the song Nowhere Man so much.

It fits.

Today, I’m heading north to Colorado to visit family for a few days after spending the last couple of weeks helping Move my mom into her new house. After that, I’ll be making my way back to my home base in the Pacific Northwest sometime within the next week.

That’s a lot of transition.
A lot of travel.
A lot of disruption.

And yet…
it’s also exciting, adventurous, energizing, and deeply alive.

I find that dichotomy fascinating.

It feels like two parts of myself competing with each other.

Part of me wants the comfort of a quiet little Hobbit-hole existence.
Another part longs for the open road.

And I like to think I will usually choose the adventurous path whenever I can.
But then I also notice moments where I’m surrounded by possibility and still decide to simply stay in for the evening.

Part of this is probably conditioning.

For years and years, my life followed a very rigid structure.
Wake up around 4am.
Have a little personal R&R time with coffee and distractions (usually not rock and roll… though occasionally, yes, rock and roll).
Get cleaned up.
Commute to work by 6am.
Return home around 6pm or 7pm.
Cook.
Eat.
A little more recovery time.
Sleep.
Repeat.

That lifestyle of “making money to pay the bills” required stability, routine, predictability, and minimizing disruption.

And…

It bored the hell out of me.

I dreamed constantly of escape.

And now…
I have escaped.

So now what?

Over the years I’ve kicked around all sorts of possibilities:
nomadic living, van life, seasonal work, jumping back into a larger corporate role, splitting time between summer and winter locations,
and many others.

I’ve tested some of them, too.

But for now, I believe I’ve decided to fully commit to what feel like the deepest threads of my genuine calling.

At least as best I can currently understand them.

My approach right now is Total Focus:
stacking One Hit Wonders on top of one another in ways that gradually build the life and work I believe I’m meant to pursue.

As best I can currently articulate it, that calling seems to involve becoming a:

• philosopher-songwriter; a kind of modern troubadour

• self-actualization architect for the masses; a Professor on the Highway to Yeah, helping ordinary people build the freedom to live their Truth, creatively, intentionally, and meaningfully

• narrative mythologist and personal historian; a kind of detective for the soul, helping people uncover their personal myths, deepest values, and second-half-of-life callings

These things feel exciting to me. It feels meaningful to pursue these ends.

And I genuinely think I’ve designed many of the right structural elements to begin making this possible.

And yet…

I still find myself dealing with a deep sense of rootlessness.
A feeling of not fully belonging anywhere.
A longing for a place that truly feels like home.

This past weekend, I took a short drive to a cool little city not far from where my mom and siblings live, and I found myself thinking:
“I could see myself buying a place here and settling down.”

Not full-time necessarily.
I still envision plenty of travel and life on the road.

But perhaps as a place where I genuinely feel rooted.
A place where I belong at least part of the year.

And then immediately another part of me responds:
“What the heck are you doing, dude? You’re trying to become a touring musician.”

What I “should” want is a simple, centrally located place to hang my hat between trips.
Somewhere peaceful enough to write, record, rehearse, and do the deeper creative work that matters.

And truthfully, I already have a pretty great setup for that.

I have my Back On Campus apartment in the Southeast where I can winter and live a stimulating, structured, and exploratory lifestyle.

And I have my artist’s retreat in the Pacific Northwest where I can hunker down, write songs, record music, and tour cool towns and cities within a 1, 2, 3, 5, and even 8-hour radius.

So what exactly is the problem?

Honestly…
I’m not entirely sure.

I feel rooted and rootless at the same time.

And for now, I think I’m okay with that.

Maybe it really is something like metamorphosis.
A caterpillar in transition before becoming a butterfly.

I don’t know yet.

Only time will tell.

And as best I can manage, I’ll continue documenting the journey here as best I can.

But for now, it’s time to get back on the Highway to Yeah.

Things are going to start ramping up soon.

So you may want to stick around and see how the story unfolds