Restless Roads and Rooted Gardens

Restless Roads and Rooted Gardens

It’s always been a dream of mine to have a pull trailer or an RV—something I could hitch to my car and just go. If I had the means, I’d invest in a modernized caravan, sleek but simple, a little home on wheels. I imagine traveling freely, working online, taking odd jobs or temp gigs in new towns, exploring as far as my heart and curiosity could carry me.

What many people don’t know about me is that I get antsy—unsettled—if I stay in one place too long without something grounding me. The stillness can turn anxious. I begin to wonder about the world beyond the horizon: who’s out there, what’s out there, what I might discover if I keep moving.

And yet, here’s the paradox: when I’m partnered, I can root deeply, and quickly. Give me love, and suddenly any place—whether city or countryside—becomes a garden I can tend, a stream I can rest beside. It’s not that I think the grass is greener elsewhere. What I’m really looking for is the garden I can build with someone, the shared soil where growth feels sacred and alive.

It’s funny, too, because though I love the city—the energy, the pulse, the people—I’ve always harbored the dream of a homestead. A place with quiet land, maybe chickens or a garden, a slower rhythm. The truth is, I am paradoxical: restless yet longing for roots, craving the open road but also the hearth.

When I’m partnered, my curiosity settles into one beautiful stream, and I can flow with it. When I’m not, the world is nothing but endless streams, and I become like Goldilocks—wandering, tasting, testing, trying to decide which is “just right.”

Maybe that’s the heart of it: I’m not searching for greener grass. I’m searching for the stream that feels like home, the garden that’s worth tending together.

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