“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.”
― Anaïs Nin
I said to a friend I felt like I had grown as much as I could living in North America. This friend, who moved to Portugal from the UK, said before she moved here she felt like a plant that had outgrown the pot it was in.
“It’s interesting we both came to such a small country to grow,” I said.
Perhaps it’s not about how big or small our pot is, but more about the nourishment we get from the soil, from the amount of sun we let into our hearts, and how deep our roots reach into the ground wherever we’re planted.
