On Rootedness in an Unmoored World

The rebellious joy of reclaiming a connection to place + self

Welcome to Slow Folk - a community for heart-centred entrepreneurs and rebellious creatives, thirsty for a slower life in a world obsessed with speed. These are my notes and reflections from over a decade of life in the Slow Lane.

If you’re ready to push back against busy to build a life of purpose and presence-over-perfection - please join me.

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Welcome to the Unbusy Revolution.

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Writing this morning watching the sun come up over my tiny farm, the towering cottonwood trees golden and ethereal in the early light. It will be another hot one today, but for now the brown grass is cool with dew on the soles of my feet.

I drink it in.

I realized this morning, sitting here in the quiet of dawn, that I can point to each spot on the horizon where that sun will appear in any given season. I’ve watched it swing it’s arc across this vista, imperceptibly creeping from north to south and back again, for nearly 11 years.

In a world where mobility and disconnection from place are hailed as the ultimate freedom - Work from anywhere! Live that laptop life! -

Rooting in place has become an ultimate act of rebellion.

As the sun crests the horizon and sets the stubborn oak near my sitting spot on fire, I wonder if we’ve done the math on what that freedom has cost us.

We’ve been taught that limits confine us.

That true freedom means a cutting of cords and obligations, an erasure of borders and aligences. To take up the sword of a mercenary, to tug our responsibilities on and off like armour, to cover our true self with a protective metallic mask of the personal brand.

And I’m sure this works well enough for plenty of people. But I can’t help but wonder…

Does it not also mean an abandonment of stewardship?

Connectedness? The wisdom that can only come from being deeply rooted in our places?

What happens when our wholehearted, complicated, nuanced and contradictory self is reduced to a ‘personal brand’? Designed not to be whole or human or life-affirming, but instead pared down and polished, our purpose reduced to being consumed by others like a tall glass of cool water?

What happens when our sense of rootedness in our own spirits and bodies must be subjugated to the demands and expectations of people who do not, and never will, truly know us?

How can we possibly know ourselves?