I've moved around a lot. A. Lot. And, you know, I think that's true of my generation--we late 90's/early-mid noughts. We, for some reason, were (are) a gypsy band of seekers. We aren't unique, I know, but this is my tribe.
We wandered; we tried everything; we self-reflected; we were broke but involved; and we came to life (aka adulthood) pretty dang late. But here's the thing--most of us, from my completely unprofessional survey, ended up back where we began--back in our hometowns after LA, NY, Chicago, Seattle, San Francisco, with an entirely other perspective, an entirely heretofore untapped well of gratitude, of experience.
Did we have to spend all that time/energy/money to find this brand of peace? I have no idea. Probably. Does change, does adaptation, does a swing in perspective necessitate a journey through the desert, a long, dark night of the soul?
I don't think so. We've trained ourselves to believe this will be hard, impossible without sacrifice and discomfort. But I don't believe that anymore. I don't believe we have to take ourselves to the brink of breakage just to get a crack or two of light in. We need depth, stillness, silence, and space to send down roots. And then we need patience.
Maybe that's what we'd been running from. Maybe that's what finally pulled us back from the edge.