The Problem of Roots

On Obsessions With the Temporary

A lot of jams. Photo from thecheeseshopva.com.

Choice. A concept so coveted that it’s the sole, campaign-defining bedrock of the reproductive rights movement in America and, some might say, liberal feminism as a whole. And, incidentally, an idea so contentious that it’s become the epicenter of many a social and political debate. Is plastic surgery liberating for a woman if it’s her choice to undergo it? Can certain people be deemed unfit for making their own choices? Does anyone have free will anymore? Whether in conversation with the copious faces on dating apps or the overwhelming number of jams in a grocery store, too much choice is considered overwhelming, but too little is considered tyrannical.

Nonetheless, abundant options have contributed to the flair and allure of American culture. Here, you can be anything you want to be, we’re promised, the opportunities are limitless. Of course, to an extent, that promise has proven to be fantastical in practice due to certain limiting economic and systemic barriers. But moreover, flexibility flourishes.

A fresh college graduate can log onto Linked-In and filter for an entry-level job in any region in the United States, though they will likely pick one of four or so metropolitan hubs if they have the opportunity to. Or they can forego a location in search of a remote role, allowing them to sever roots when they desire, picking up and starting over again and again, as much as their heart desires.

Nowadays, “having roots” - or thick, tough ones anyways - is perceived by many young people as a hindrance more than an asset. I’m not saying that kids these days don’t love their families or communities, but rather that there’s this acceptance towards loving them from a distance or without as many physical, in-person commitments as there were years ago. It’s become custom to spend time “finding oneself,” which must often happen in a city far, far away, before returning to said community with a more worldly perspective. Many have also settled with the reality that it’s entirely necessary to have the opportunity to work from wherever you want in the country, so long as you have a laptop and internet access. Countless workers have grown accustomed to typing out of hotel rooms and campsites, ski lodges and childhood bedrooms - for their work-life existing within the digestible confines of a backpack or carry-on roller bag.

I might write this with a slightly snide tone, but I can assure you, I too have bought into this rootless life with great zeal. I see the appeal and the benefits. Upon graduating college, I almost exclusively applied to roles that had the option of working remotely, unsure of where exactly I would want to roam. And today, I’ve more or less made that goal a reality - I’m able to work in a coffee shop, a library, my apartment, or pack-up shop and head home for a couple of weeks, working on the country’s opposite coast.

Being able to operate this way - largely kickstarted out of necessity due to the pandemic - has been transformative for people. Having the option to work remotely has been dubbed an empowering opportunity by many, especially for women, for whom the majority of childcare and housework in heterosexual relationships still falls. Eliminating commutes and being given greater flexibility for when tasks are precisely completed is rather freeing. The movement has spurred important discussion about valuing the quality of work over the number of hours clocked in an office. I for one have become rather cozy in my circumstances. I try not to take for granted that I can fix a fresh lunch in my apartment kitchen and visit my childhood home on a weekend’s notice, as it’s an undoubtedly privileged situation and one I may not find myself in forever.

Living a life rather stripped of roots makes me feel free as a bird. I can go anywhere and do many things, the choices abound! And at the same time, being stripped of roots can also make me feel, well, like I’m lacking grounding. Imagine that.

In high school, my daily routine consisted of me bouncing from establishment to establishment - beginning at school, then driving to my part-time job, and then to my local dance studio for rehearsals. I ended each day flopping on my bed, sweaty and fatigued, but not before I scarfed down a quick dinner while trying to complete my calculus homework. Weekends largely looked the same, as I ran around my community volunteering at various organizations to earn my required community service hours for graduation. As I dashed around my town, I felt as though my limbs were being stretched on one of those medieval torture devices, yanked in every direction, spreading thinner and thinner. I longed for the day when I could finally relax. When I could sit for more than a few seconds at a time. 

As an adult, I now find myself sitting for what feels like far too many seconds at a time. I’m a grown-up who predominantly works on her computer, my physical presence isn’t required in too many places nowadays, except at sites of socialization. On days when the apartment is entirely to myself, I can go a whole afternoon without uttering a word aloud.

When thinking about what many have dubbed the issue of “atomization” in my generation, I can’t help but also reflect on my youth and all the different types of physical places that I went - basketball gyms, auditoriums, churches, and school fundraisers. Yes, young adults go to many physical places too - grocery stores, gyms, offices, restaurants, and wine bars to name a few common metropolitan spots. Nonetheless, most of these places are sites of transactions, sites of necessary exchanges. Paying for food, paying for fitness, and paying for a place to mingle outside of one’s home. Or sites of work, where one goes to labor in exchange for money to pay for the things at the other sites of commerce. In and out, as swiftly as a credit card swipe. 

In contrast, many of the physical places of my childhood were sites of lingering. Hanging out in my favorite English teacher’s classroom after school, or running around the playground until my mom told me it was time to head home. Checking out a library book for the summer reading competition. Attending a church fundraiser. Places contributing something in exchange for nothing more than experience and connection with others (and the occasional signature on my volunteer log).

I find myself much more hesitant to make these more physical, community-based connections as an adult. I’m sure much of the hesitancy relates to being a full-time worker, and feeling like I only have time for the necessary material sites, like Trader Joe’s. But I also think the reluctance relates, in part, to the flighty tendencies of myself and my cohorts. The feeling of being a passerby of a place, accepting a sampling of a city, before inevitably hopping to the next. The feeling that too much of a commitment to something is an unfavorable thing in a world of endless options. So many of my introductory conversations with people in New York City begin with “How long do you think you’ll be here?” implying each of our imminent departures. How hard it is to connect with others when it feels like there’s always one foot out the door, eyes peeled for the next shiny place to bounce?

I think that the abundance of choices young people are faced with and their inability to commit in the face of such options is contributing, in part, to their diminished sense of self and struggle to authentically connect with others. Many are inclined to think that there is agency to reap in the temporary - that if you’re with one person or in one place for a long time, you’re destined to grow stagnant. I don’t think that people should avoid traveling or moving or dating around if that’s what they want to do - I see myself continuing to bounce between cities in the next few years. But I do think it’s helpful to bear in mind that there is a flip side to being bound to nothing, which isn’t being tied to anything.

There’s no reason to grow rigid and outright reject flexibility, drawing a circle around our current spots and refusing to move. Perhaps there’s a way to move through life and people without the shield that we think being a passive spectator provides us. We can instead place our own guardrails in the form of active participation, making our presence an asset to a place rather than mere set decoration. Show up to a dance class and linger afterward, thanking your teacher and greeting other students. Become a regular at your local library. Arrange a picnic in a park with friends from different groups. Attend community theatre performances and recreational sports league games and walk around and earnestly smile at the people in your neighborhood. Go to places in which you can gain and contribute more than just your cash and dare to allow people and places to become important to you. Don’t necessarily grow thick, obstinate roots but rather tendrils of connection. It’s amazing how much we can learn about ourselves when we give ourselves something to love and lose and learn from.

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A lot of the ideas written about here relate to the idea of “placemaking” in urban planning, which I wrote about last month, check it out here if you’re interested!