Rooted, I used to think.

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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Day Fifteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Fourteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Thirteen - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019
Atonement - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019

Monday, Jul. 15, 2013 @ 8:00 am

My day:

Wake up on the 6th floor, sun pouring through the wall of glass. Rise and look out to the east, across the carpet of mature maples, elms, oaks lining the grid of streets, to the mountains beyond that rim the city.

Travel upstream on the Skytrain, the elevated monorail, looking down at the chaos of cars that clog the city's aterial roads. The sun fully risen, and the city glimmering and productive.

And into another elevator, up twelve stories, finishing with a stomach-lurching halt. My open pod, no cubicles or offices, and I glance from my monitors out across the Fraser River to, once again, the city and mountains beyond. Concrete towers rising in little bursts from the green swath, crowded around Skytrain stations in false town centres.

And so it goes, 6th floor, monorail, 12th floor, monorail, 6th floor, monorail, 12th floor... I spend so much time up in the air. More time in the sky than on the ground. When I'm on the ground, my feet are on concrete, asphalt, brick pavers. Maybe every few days I am on sand or lawn. But earth? Native, undisturbed soil? It simply doesn't exist along my daily travels.

Does that mean that I'm unhappy, ungrounded?

The simple answer is an unequivocal no.

I'm living at a sort of peak right now. I achieved my professional designation. I really like my job. I feel good about myself when I walk out the door every morning. I am comfortable in my skin.

I am humbled by my life right now. This is a golden time. I keep thinking that things are going to snap, that I'll wake up with cancer, or that I will be hit by a car, never to walk again. That an earthquake will shake me from one of these towers like a grain of salt. That the economy will collapse and my job will disappear.

But for now, I revel in the sun of this season, this time, of now.

Roots | Shoots