Shallow Roots

I'm a California girl. I was born there, I was raised there, and I will one day (hopefully) retire there. (However, that's a long ways off). However, despite my west coast upbringing, I've spent the last 15 years taking a tour of the South. I spent 8 years in Atlanta, where I met my (now ex-) husband, and we subsequently moved to Columbia (SC), Charlotte (NC) and then here - Jacksonville, FL. My entire family (with few exceptions) is still in California, and they pester me frequently about coming back out west. However, I was intent upon being a supportive and loving wife, and gleefully followed my (ex-) husband wherever his job took us.

So when we split up (it's now been over three years ago), the pressure was REALLY on for me to pack up and move closer to my family. And I'll admit, it was tempting. I had no husband, no family, few friends, and no job and no apartment (I had given notice on both in anticipation of following him for yet another transfer).

And yet, despite all of that, I decided to stay here in Florida. It was something I had to do for myself. It would have been far to easy to pack up and move 'home.' I was 28, I had spent my entire adult life with two men (not simultaneously!), and I had never lived alone for any length of time. Though I had always considered myself to be a very independent and self-sufficient person, those skills had never truly been put to the test. I felt that this was an opportunity to truly test my own strength and resourcefulness. And that I did.

I found a new apartment. I got a new (and better) job. I made new friends. I learned how to "date" again (quite a ridiculous sport, if you ask me). I got involved in sports. But most importantly, I learned how to be okay with being alone. I learned to appreciate a quiet evening at home, by myself. I realized it's okay to cook a four-course meal for just myself. I learned how to go out, be it to dinner, or a club, and not feel like a social outcast just because I was by myself. And I learned to actually LIKE all of these things.

Yet still, my family persisted in trying to convince me to move back. They focused on the fact that I had nothing tying me to this place. Upon thinking about it, I realized I had in fact developed some shallow roots. I was finally feeling anchored to a place, to people, and I liked it. But there was still a part of me that was homesick, a part of me that felt that once I made it through all the rough spots, I would eventually return to California, where I felt I belonged.

So here we are, three years later... and I haven't moved back. And I don't know that I ever will. I've come to this realization lately that I have finally found a place where I really feel I belong. A place where I have wonderful, amazing, loyal friends. A place where I have the love and devotion of an amazing and gentle man. A place where I have a job that I am actually very good at, where I (usually) feel appreciated, where I feel challenged (usually), and where I have friends.

For a couple of years, I was merely content. And now? I've realized there's something better than mere contentment. It's called happiness.