By Mary Jaksch
Do you know the landscape of your parents, or grandparents? If your family is still well rooted in the soil of your homeland, then you will know that landscape intimately. But if you come from a family where the roots have been cut, you may not have a felt sense of where you come from.
My family’s roots were severed. My father, Wenzel Jaksch – who, as a Social Democrat was part of the Resistance – fled Czechoslovakia just before the Nazis invaded and was never allowed to return. This affected not only my father, but also the next generation – my brother and myself – as well as our children.
We are all rootless.
Taken together, we have lived in over twenty different countries, and we each hold at least two passports.
There is a telling moment: ask any of us where we come from – and there is a lengthy pause. “Well – ” we tend to say, and then we start explaining where we were born and what nationalities we hold.
A few weeks ago, a small group of family and friends got together for a private pilgrimage. We re-enacted my father’s escape from the Czech Republic into Poland, walking over the Beskide mountains. Before my father died (I lost him in my teenage years because he had children late in life), he wrote a nail-biting account of his escape.
Wenzel Jaksch escaped in winter, disguised as a ski tourist. He survived impossible odds. Even walking the same trails in summer was hard. (One day we had to walk over 30 kilometers in the driving, cold rain with heavy packs.)
I’ve set myself the task of writing about his escape and our experience of re-enacting it. It’s bit daunting, and this post is the first step.
The outcome of connecting with the landscape of my ancestors was totally unexpected
When I arrived back home, I went to visit a good friend of mine. She kept on studying my face. then she said, “You look so different. It’s really striking. It seems like something fundamental has come to rest.”
That’s right. It has.
Seeing my father’s beloved homeland and walking through it, has somehow healed something within me. I now know where I come from, and have reconnected with my roots.
What about you? Have your family’s roots been cut?
What is your experience of this? I would love to read your comments.
Image of Mary Jaksch: Elspeth Collier
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Ciao Mary. What a moving set of events for you. I can see, in your words, something that I recognize as empathy. Empathy for you father. When you traced the path that your father took, maybe you felt some of the emotions he must have felt. The anxiety and fear. The unbearable sadness of leaving a part of himself behind that he knew he might never know again, the not knowing whether he was just one curve in the path away from two Nazi soldiers and certain death. You probably felt all this and more while you were walking in his footsteps. He risked that escape so you and our brother could be born and live and thrive. You needed to be born. So he needed to live, and that’s what he did. He did what he had to do to live.
It’s a blessing, a really huge blessing, that you have his written words to lead you on that path. Because I think the change in you that your friend might have seen is that on that path somewhere, you met yourself. You met Who You Really Are. You were born of bravery and a desire to be free and to live and to thrive. It was all always there, but on that path maybe it showed itself to you through his footsteps.
Entwurzelung. The process of being rootless. To pick yourself up and move on. Again. That feeling becomes crystalized when someone asks you where you are from, and as you say, you respond with “well…” It’s the understanding that the only home we will ever really have is the one we have created for ourselves.
When I put this half of your story together with the one you always have shared about having to rebuild (after being ripped off of the money your mom left you) your life through blogging, I think that you are the definition of the word survivor. I think your father would be very, very happy and proud to know just how much of a survivor his daughter is. Der Apfel fällt nicht weit von Stamm.
I think you are growing new roots.
Diana Strinati Baur´s last [type] ..of love- hornets and airbags
Diana, I love your comment. I know that you and I share uprooting with Mary. Now I am wondering where your own ancestors are from. Have you written about that?
Alison Kerr | Loving Nature’s Garden´s last [type] ..How to potter about in your garden
Yes, Alison, I have come back to where my ancestors came from. All four of my grandparents immigrated from a part of Italy very close to where I live. They, all four, came to America before the age of 20. The first time I visited the village where my paternal grandparents came from, I was overwhelmed by the beauty. They left their parents and their extended family because of rampant poverty and came to New York to work as cooks and cleaners. One of my grandmothers spoke of Italy often, the other never mentioned it. My father’s father died of a broken heart. In Italy, he trained horses. In America, he scrubbed pots and made sauces in a french restaurant. My parents had the nose-to-the-grindstone mentality of many first generation Americans, providing me with the opportunity for college and to travel abroad. I met my German husband, moved to Germany (and discovered the most flabbergasting story about his family and cut roots resulting from the Iron Curtain). When we decided to leave the corporate world behind and strike out on our own, no other place came into consideration other than Italy. I was returning to the place I came from. Cut my veins and the blood is Italian. I recognize myself in the faces of my neighbors. It’s not always easy to be here, but after having lived in so many places, there is something comforting in that for me.
Diana Strinati Baur´s last [type] ..of love- hornets and airbags
I’m quite overwhelmed by your response, Diana.
During the trip, we read aloud each day the relevant parts of my father’s story. So we experienced his fear, his bravery, and the breaking of his heart. It was an emotional time.
When we walked up the steps of Thun Castle in Prague (which is still the British Embassy) led by the husband of the British Ambassador, I felt tears gathering in my eyes: I was truly walking in my father’s footsteps.
I’m grateful for all he taught me. And maybe you’re right – it’s only through literally walking in his footsteps that what he taught me truly came home.
We have moved so many times and have so many nationalities mixed in the family that i wouldn’t even know where to begin. But you are right I think that the landscape effects people so much, their mood, their skin-tone, the way they react to certain things…but i think that we should embrace change as well and create who we are based on what makes us happy.
ella´s last [type] ..5 Events Corporate Event Managers Can Learn From
Yes, Ella – we also have to embrace change.
We had a strange moment, when the husband of the British Ambassador in Prague asked us: “Would you ever consider coming back here?”
We were stunned – this idea had never occurred to us. My brother then said, “Our lives have moved on. There is no way back.”
Mary, this is great, I’m so happy you took that trip. I only wonder why you didn’t do it earlier! The person who knows their roots is to be envied, for without knowing where we come from we can’t truly know where we are going. I’m not at all surprised about how you feel after your trip.
I remember reading many years ago about how immigrants who had grown sick recovered when they went back to their homeland and reconnected. It really struck me as making so much sense.
It’s not enough to do ancestral research, as so many do, because to connect with our roots we must touch the soil, feel the air on our face, hear the birds, see the plants, and connect with the nature of where we come from.
Whether we are able to go back to our roots or not, we must connect where we live – develop a sense of place with the nature where we’re at. It’s a proven therapy for all kinds of depression and mental illness. Do write that book! I’d love to hear more of your experience.
Alison Kerr | Loving Nature’s Garden´s last [type] ..How to potter about in your garden
Hi Alison, I love what you say:
“It’s not enough to do ancestral research, as so many do, because to connect with our roots we must touch the soil, feel the air on our face, hear the birds, see the plants, and connect with the nature of where we come from.”
The weird thing was that a deep part of me recognized the landscape – even though I had never seen it before.
Wow – in April I did just that! Rented a car & set out for Abruzzo & ended up in the Commune in Castel di Sangro and found anagraphs dating back 5 generations. To say that 2 years ago I had no idea I’d be obtaining my families birth records from Italy, learning enough Italian to converse with people in tiny villages who were able to help me dig up some roots, & actually stand in the “terroir” of where I came from ~ I still struggle to find the words. I’m going back in the spring to actually spend more time because my cousin has sinced informed me he knows which house my great-grandmother Ginevra Petrarca was born in, & I so wish to get that sense of place & not just wander it like I did those few days in April. ( http://valunboxed.blogspot.com/2011/04/if-john-denver-had-seen-abruzzoplus.html )
Thank you for this post!
Valerie´s last [type] ..Easy as 1-2-3
Oh, that’s wonderful, Valerie! I love the fact that you honor your great-grandmother Ginevra Petrarca.
Yes, it’s so important to get a ‘sense of place’.
I just loved this, Mary; I’ve always been interested in genealogy and family legend/stories, but it wasn’t until my Italian-American grandmother passed away that I felt a strong pull to return to where her family had come from. I knew once she was gone, that link to the Old Country would fade and fade until it was just a handful of stories that I kind of remembered her sharing with me. So I came on vacation in 2002, moved here in 2003, reclaimed Italian citizenship that my grandmother didn’t even know she had and passed on to my father and me, and have been loving life here in my ancestral medieval hilltop village ever since — changed my life? Beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Thank you for sharing this
Michelle | Bleeding Espresso´s last [type] ..Practicing Mindfulness & Saying No to Multitasking
WOW! You went back? That’s such an amazing and inspiring story, Michelle. Maybe you could write a guest post about your journey back to your roots?
Mary, I would be *beyond* honored, thank you! Please feel free to email me with your guidelines, etc.
P.S. I tried to write you directly through your contact page, but I can’t seem to get to it. When I click “contact,” I get the pop-up and then when I click the X to close the pop-up, it just redirects me back to the main page 
Michelle | Bleeding Espresso´s last [type] ..Practicing Mindfulness & Saying No to Multitasking
Scratch that about the comment form — I got in just fine this time, and have sent you a message
Michelle | Bleeding Espresso´s last [type] ..Practicing Mindfulness & Saying No to Multitasking
Mary, I always appreciate your smart newsletter and posts. But, this one particularly touched me. I am wowed by your story, your father’s story, and your recreation of his escape.
My own family left Cuba just before the Revolution. I was born in the United States and went to Cuba for the first time at the age of 24, and then went back another two times. Each time, as a journalist.
But, that first trip told me so much about my family and about myself. I finally understood their passion for Cuba and their sadness for what they lost, for it really is a magical, beautiful place, and their gratitude for the United States.
I also understood more about who I am, a person living in two cultures. I got more comfortable in my dual-ness, more proud of my people, my culture — both of my cultures.
No doubt, you did return changed from your trip.
May that feeling stay with you forever.
Carrie @ TikiTikiBlog´s last [type] ..Being Latina Smart Video
Dear Carrie, thanks for writing “I am wowed by your story, your father’s story, and your recreation of his escape.”
It has been a real struggle to write this post. In the end I realized that I HAD to write this personal story – there was no going around it. I couldn’t write about anything else.
I’m interested in your story about returning to Cuba. I love what you say: “I finally understood their passion for Cuba and their sadness for what they lost, for it really is a magical, beautiful place, and their gratitude for the United States. “
Mary, I’m so glad you got to take this trip. Walking the ground of those who were here before is something that is totally amazing. I am a genealogist, and I plan my trips to places I can do research on my family as well as walk their ground. Their farms, their communities, knowing they were there and now I’m following is an amazing feeling.
“Walking the ground” – yes, that’s it, Leslie. That’s what transforms us – not research, knowledge, or pouring over maps.
Thank you for this beautiful article.
I grew up an adopted child and didn’t know my roots. I lived with identity crisis every single day – without me knowing it. I looked different, had different tastes from my adopted family.
At the age of 26, before I knew I had been adopted, I traveled as a tourist to the very town of my ancestors, a temple town in South India called Madurai. When I got out of the train, I had to walk across this metal overhead bridge to go from the platform to the main entrance and then out of the station.
I groaned inside because I was wearing anklets with tiny bells and when you walk on metal with them, the resonance increases and they become louder. I have this crazy attraction to wearing anklets and my adopted family had often found it crazy and unnecessary and unfashionable.
But I had no choice so I stepped onto the metal bridge. As I did, I was stunned by the sound of anklets. I was walking with hundreds of people, and nearly all the women were wearing anklets. Everyone was walking in step and all that could be heard was footsteps on the metal with hundreds of tiny anklet bells ringing together in harmony.
I felt so alright with being myself in that moment. I fit in there so easily.
Two years later I found out about my biological parents and ancestry, and it all made a lot of sense. Its amazing how our little preferences are connected way back to our ancestors, even when we don’t know who they are.
How amazing that you traveled to Madurai – even before you knew that you had been adopted! I love your story of the ankle bracelets, Adaya.
It’s very interesting what you say: “Its amazing how our little preferences are connected way back to our ancestors, even when we don’t know who they are.”
Interesting topic. Yes, all of my family roots were cut, so I’m a typical American. My mother’s grandfather and his two brothers came to the US from Finland; her mother also came to the US from Finland. My father’s great-grandfather on his father’s side came from Quebec to the US. On my father’s mother’s side, they came to the US from Scotland. I have no idea where any of these people lived in their countries of origin, and I haven’t traveled to any of these countries. I’ve traced my ancestral roots back about as far as I can. To go further would take way too much time, and money.
If we were to trace back and back and back, who knows where each of us actually came from. My REAL roots are to where I grew up, not to the countries from which all of the people from whom I descended came from. We grow up and move away and carry our pulled-up roots with us. Then we put them down again somewhere.
As humans begin to travel out into the solar system, the first ones will be rooted to Earth. Future humans, born on worlds other than Earth, will have brand new roots, and for them, Earth will be only a place from which their ancestors came. On some starry night, they will look into the sky, point in the direction of Earth, and say to their children, “See that tiny bright dot. That’s Earth. That’s where your great-great-great grandparents came from.”
Roots can go deep, or they can go wide, and they travel with us wherever we go. In that sense, perhaps no one is really rootless.
Thanks for your lovely comment, Suzy. I was especially struck by “Roots can go deep, or they can go wide, and they travel with us wherever we go. In that sense, perhaps no one is really rootless.”
When I returned from our trip in the Czech Republic, I stayed in Wiesbaden for a few days. (This is the town where I grew up.) It was the first time I’ve really felt at ease there. I understood why this place has never felt like home. My mother pined for England, my father pined for Bohemia – and we all finally all moved away. No wonder it never became ‘home’.
You grew up in Wiesbaden?! I lived in Idstein, about 20km north, from 1968-1974, 1976-1980. Continued to visit my parents to 2005 when they moved away. Started an apprenticesgip at Thoelen goldsmith in Wiesbaden in 1973. Maybe out paths crossed? Small world anyway.
judyofthewoods´s last [type] ..Tree Sap
….and my husband is from Mainz! (I love both Wiesbaden AND Idstein….)
Diana Strinati Baur´s last [type] ..of love- hornets and airbags
Oh, my! We may have passed each other in the streets of Wiesbaden, not knowing that we would meet up later this way. Strange world, eh?
It really is, Mary.
Diana Strinati Baur´s last [type] ..of love- hornets and airbags
Oops, that struck a nerve.
Where do I come from? Well, my father was born in Silesia, now Poland. As a German POW married my mother in Wales, had two daughters there, emigrated to Canada (via living in Germany briefly), where I and my younger sister where born. We all moved back to Germany in 1961. I have two and a half nationalities. I returned to Canada when 18. Wasn’t for me. Back to Germany for a bit. Moved to Wales. Home. Sort of.
Yes, I know all too well about being a ‘homeless’ person with severed roots. I have no single home and am a foreigner wherever I go. Wales, where I’ve been since 1980, is the closest to my spiritual home. I have not visited my father’s home in Silesia yet, so can’t say what that would feel like. After reading your account I wonder what it might be like. One day I will.
This is something over which I have done some navel gazing. I am certain that it made me the globetrotter that I was when young. I also learnt that home is not just a geographic place, but also belonging to a tribe. When there is no one single geographic tribe you can call your own, you join another form of tribe. You connect with people who are like you or are like-minded. In my youth I hung out with the outsiders, foreigners. Now it is with people I connect with ideologically, well, and some outsiders.
Since living in Wales, my mother’s ancestral home, I have felt a greater belonging than ever, especially the place where I live. My desire to travel is now virtually nil. I feel very rooted now. Home is, indeed, where the heart is.
One thing which can compensates for rootlessness is continuity. That can be in the form of living in one place for a long time, keeping childhood mementos or anything that goes through life with you, not just physical things. It may have no intrinsic value, but is a proxy of your rootedness.
The greatest peace comes from accepting that I have no roots and acknowledging my internationality as a gift. My heritage has not been split but multiplied. It has enriched my life.
Indeed, you must write about your father’s and your experience. It was very moving to read, and I know it is not just for those whose nerves were struck so deeply (yes, it moved me to tears). But for those who are of the same tribe, well, you talk our language.
judyofthewoods´s last [type] ..Tree Sap
Oh, Judy – your comment is a gift. We are soulmates in the land of the rootless.
There are so many things you wrote that resonated with me. Like this passage: “The greatest peace comes from accepting that I have no roots and acknowledging my internationality as a gift. My heritage has not been split but multiplied. It has enriched my life.”
That’s true for me as well. Actually, all my family is incredibly international. It is a gift.
I also have the advantage that I come from two very different social strata. My father came from a very poor family and was only allowed to go to school for 4 years (nevertheless, he ended up with being awared a doctorate honoris causis for his books on European history). In contrast, my mother’s came from a rather uppity branch of the Plantagenets and could trace her ancestors back more than a thousand years. She got a degree at Cambridge.
This means that I can fit in anywhere – sitting on the floor of a hut in the jungle of the Darien, or taking tea with an Ambassador.
Mary,
Thanks for your story. I resonate so much with it!
I definitively agree with Diana that you may felt some of the emotions of your father.
I’ve experience something similar. My mum is a mix of different nationalities, and many of her ancestors left the country in which they have been born. My dad has a similar story, and I, well, how couldn’t I emigrate, too.
I have little knowledge of my ancestors and their life stories, but I remember how I once found myself crying my heart out for England, feeling so tremendously homesick. Some words came into my mind which I’d normally never use. I really felt so much love for that land, and so much grief that I was forced to leave it (which in reality, I wasn’t).
I also have a very strong innate feeling for Scotland which I’ve had even before I ever have visited it. I love the landscape, songs, language, light of the air and so on. I don’t know if some of my ancestors were Scottish, but it really is in my soul.
And the same about Italy. I’d learn the language within couple of weeks. And France, and Scandinavian countries…
I also can connect very strong to certain period. I literally smell the scent of middle ages, or disgust the thirties.
I’ve read a story about honoring our forefathers. The author talked how important it was to honor their homeland, even if you don’t know where it is. She explained that when we have preferences for some things, it’s possible that it’s the heart of our forefathers we feel. She then described how she collected things that touched her (like stones, images, songs, buildings, and so on), giving it to that ancestor part in her. After she felt a strong emotional release.
What a lovely suggestion to honor our ancestors by collecting things that remind us of them. Thanks for that, Laura
Another mutt here, and proud of it, but it does always leave me scratching my head when people talk about “feeling their ancestors.” I’m part Native American, but several tribes so I can’t even really identify with that. I’m all sorts of northern European, and who knows what else?
I’ve always thought of my native blood first when I try to describe my lineage, but I think that’s less because I live on the same ground, and more because there’s just so much I admire about the various cultures that make up the category. It doesn’t hurt that my favorite physical features on myself (straight hair, high cheekbones, easy golden tan) are ones that I associate with that ancestry.
For me, I’ve never really felt much of an urge to connect with the past. Instead, I find myself putting down deep roots in the present. The people I care about I care about HARD, and the things that matter to me matter to my toes.
I’ve always viewed history in much the same way I view biology – both are important in shaping our worldviews, both affect our lives today, but neither get to make our decisions for us. Take the best of what history gave you, and make it better. Remember the worst and never repeat it.
Shadlyn Wolfe´s last [type] ..Damn Fine Cup of Coffee
“…matter to my toes.” Love that.
Agreed Shadlyn. Our history, nature, and nurture each helped create who I am and who you are. What is often forgotten is how powerful our minds are. Because each of us makes our own decisions and can create our own reality.
Christopher´s last [type] ..Reflection On Community- The 2011 Northeast Crossfit Regionals
I agree with you about the importance of living in the present. Even if I don’t know exactly where the roots of my ancestors lie, I don’t mind. I feel at home where I am, where ever it is.
But what does surprise me, that even without looking for the past, that past just overtook me and filled me with all kind of feelings and thoughts.
Laura´s last [type] ..How to Change Your Perspective
Hi Shadlyn, yes, we are all mutts here
I would have agreed with you all the way – before I went on this hike. I’m pretty down-to-earth, but I this walk changed me. Just simply through walking the land of my ancestors. I don’t understand it myself (and was VERY reluctant to write about it here).
I’m very glad you wrote about it, even if I can’t identify with it personally! You don’t get to understand other people by only hearing about the ways they are LIKE you; it’s the ways they’re different that enlighten you and sometimes teach you new things about yourself.
It may also be partially a function of distance – you were walking the land of your father, and thus learning about something that shaped an individual that you knew well. Not simply biology, but also an emotional connection to someone you loved.
Shadlyn Wolfe´s last [type] ..When You Don’t Have the Reach for the Stars…
Mary,
Your story and all of the comments here have been amazing. What struck me is how your small group read your father’s words as you traveled. There is something sacred in that very act.
I only know both sets of my grandparents came from Poland. They weren’t living when I was born. A couple of months ago hubs and I went to Ellis Island. I was struck by the difficulty they endured on the trip. 10% of the immigrants died on the way due to unsanitary conditions etc. I came away with a new understanding of “following your dreams!” Thanks for sharing your remarkable story.
Tess The Bold Life´s last [type] ..Mindfulness in the Midst of Uncertainty
Yes, some of our ancestors have suffered great hardship. I was shocked how much suffering there was in Eastern Europe through the war and its aftermaths. Unimaginable suffering.
It’s lovely that you want to Ellis Island. What are your grandparents’ names? It think it’s important to name the ancestors we know about.
Dear Mary,
You touch a lot of strong chords here. I am very thankful to you for sharing not only the outer journey you took but more importantly what was happening “inside.”
My roots were cut too, I would guess starting when I was a boy of 7 in England and suddenly, there was WW2 breaking out all around me. The Blitz began, and while my father joined the army, later becoming a war reporter in India and Burma, Mum and me coped with German bombs falling. We lived in the early days of the Blitz on the 5th floor of an aprtment block in central London, and one of my most vivid and painful memories is the night when bombs fell so close that this entire building swayed back and forth beneath my feet for what seemed forever. Loud booms outside, fires flaring all around.
I was hanging on to my Mom, sobbing in fear. I have always been amazed how strong she was, and never forgotten how she kept saying, “It’s all right, it’s all right.”
Shortly after, I was sent to live in the country with an aunt. I’d say that’s when my rootlessness began. But there is another angle I’d like briefly to share. I never got to really know my Dad, and I certainly never got to love him. He was a reporter, and he had a pile of integrity, but he simply could not undertand my strange desire to leave England as a young man and go to British Columbia in search of something as nebulous as “truth.”
Strangely, it is only now, (I’m 79), as I experience the challenge of aging PLUS the joy of reconnecting more fully with my own timeless essence that I find myself re-connected with Dad at a whole new level. Strange, eh? or is it? — dare I say, at the level of what is eternal and never changes. The level of true love.
I feel his support now every day, his indomitable spirit: so my closing thoughts is — “It’s never too late to heal the past and heal our relations with the past.” Thanks again for your wonderful sharing Mary. Love and blessings.
Christopher Foster´s last [type] ..Two roads to happiness — which will you choose
Ah – you really touched a chord within me, Chris. I was a teenager when my father died (my mother accidentally killed him in a car accident). What I’ve noticed more and more is that he taught me so much before he died. His teachings have slowly emerged within me over time. I’m grateful.
What an incredible adventure, Mary! It’s very profound and thoughtful that your father recorded his journey. I wonder if he ever dreamed others would trace his footsteps one day. A very interesting post, indeed!
My ancestors are from several countries, but from what I know, the past 3 generations have lived in Canada. One day, it might be interesting to study more of the family tree.
I’m happy for you, Mary!
Marianne´s last [type] ..The Miracle of Lester Levenson
Thanks, Marianne.
My father was a journalist and politician – so his instinct was to write, to record.
What a wonderful story and so amazing to follow your father’s footsteps. You’ve received some touching comments. I feel like a mutt as well. My father’s family came over from England and we have followed some of their history. My mother is hispanic and wasn’t willing to share so much, so it’s always been a bit of mystery. My grandparents came from Mexico, but we don’t don’t know where they originated from. It’s another piece of the puzzle about who we really are. Thanks for sharing your remarkable story.
Cathy | Treatment Talk´s last [type] ..Writing Down Our Intentions Can Change Our Life
Hi Cathy, I think it’s a great idea to ‘interview’ one’s parents (while they are still alive, of course…) Take a video camera or digital recorder and ask questions. I did a video interview with my mother before she died. At her funeral celebration we showed the video in which she spoke of her childhood. We all had a good laugh (she told some funny stories..). It was a wonderful moment to see her on screen.
This post had a bit of a different spin on it for me.
I don’t really have ancestral roots like this. My father is 100% Polish, but born in NY. My mother is 25% Italian, Spanish, Polish, and Lithuanian. While I am mostly Polish, I don’t know if I feel Polish.
For me, I’ve never felt like I was home anywhere. I’m from New Jersey. A year ago, I moved to North Carolina for two months. When I moved back, I had this perspective about New Jersey I never had before. I embraced the cold winters and learned to see the beauty in it. I enjoyed the people and the energy they had when pursuing their interests, despite the traffic.
While New Jersey is not the landscape of my ancestors, learning to love where I live and embrace it as my own has been refreshing at this time in my life.
Having recently read Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Nature,” I looked this up ….
“Homer, Pindar, Socrates, Phocion, associate themselves fitly in our memory with the geography and climate of Greece. The visible heavens and earth sympathize with Jesus. And in common life whosoever has seen a person of powerful character and happy genius, will have remarked how easily he took all things along with him – the persons, the opinions, and the day, and nature became ancillary to a man.” (p.12)
The place doesn’t leave the person. : )
Christopher´s last [type] ..Reflection On Community- The 2011 Northeast Crossfit Regionals
Thanks for you story and lovely quote, Christopher
Wow! Great post. Based on your readers’ responses, it seems you’ve reached a real universal theme, and searching for your roots could end up being a whole new blog. (yet another project on your plate).
Hi Stephen, it’s strange how sometimes the posts that have a difficult birth are the ones that touch hearts the most.
Very emotional, but interesting. In fact these days, lot of people migrate from their home country and there are very good chances of not grounded to the roots. For me, it is my grand mother’s place. I felt so connected to visit the village and learn about my father’s childhood activities.
Yes, Lalitha, so many people suffer from displacement and rootlessness these days. How lovely that you visited your grandmother’s place. I”m sure that was very healing.
I can vouch for your basic premise, Mary. I’m of mixed European ancestry with great grandparents from 5 countries. I was born in Europe and grew up in Canada. Every time I go back to my birthplace I feel different. The distinctive smells of the flowers and trees, the wet soil, the sights, the colours, everything! It’s like being transported back into the world of my early childhood, but with a distant feeling attached to it, a sort of estrangement. Everthing is different there now.
It’s like being twice an exile.
Hi Dean, that’s a fine-grained observation you made:
“…but there’s a distant feeling attached to it, a sort of estrangement. …It’s like being twice an exile.
Yes, that’s how it feels…
I vaguely remember a story my grandfather told me regrading the WW2 and having trek for 3 days to reach safety. Unforunately I was only 10 when he told me and now memory is a little worn. I really wish I had an accurate account of the events,
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Yes, it’s so easy to forget the little snippets we are told by our elders. Sad.
Diversification in EVERYTHING including where you are from is never a bad thing. I always thought this was the definition of being well traveled.
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Hi Mary, I have often felt disconnected from my family because of poor relationships surrounding me from childhood. I developed a habit of people-pleasing,and worrying about what others think of me.
I am a 7th generation Texan on my Mother’s side of the family, so my “roots” aren’t cut by location.
In comparison to the peace you’ve found by connecting more to your roots, I find that I feel more at ease when I don’t try SO HARD to make those connections. By looking at myself as “enough”, I feel better.
Thanks for sharing your story. History is more interesting when it’s from a personal perspective.
Karla
It truly up to us to find out roots. The roots our our dreams are in our strengths. The root of our ancestor in our past. And the root of our success in our minds.
This was an interesting post for me to read. My family hail from Britain and, in fact, I was born there but came to New Zealand as a baby. I think I must be a ‘live in the moment’ kind of person, as I have never had any interest in genealogy at all, despite several members of my immediate and extended family going to great lengths to put our family tree together. I want to be interested, because it means so much to them, but I am just not. At one point I did return to Britain, thinking something would resonate with me. I spent three years there and visited places of importance in my family history, but felt like a tourist. Nothing struck me at an emotional level, and I’ve always wondered if there is something wrong with me, to be honest.
I hope not, because if so I’ve got the same disease!
I don’t have strong ties to my extended family in the current generation, though I love my immediate family (particularly my mom) very much. Past generations? Not really even on my radar.
I’ve never been sure if I’m not interested in history and tradition because I’m non-familial, or if I’m non-familial because I have no sense of history and tradition. Either way, I think the most important thing is to know who you are now; if the past helps you to define that self, good! If it doesn’t, then set it aside like any other baggage that keeps you from figuring out who you are.
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“I think the most important thing is to know who you are now; if the past helps you to define that self, good! If it doesn’t, then set it aside like any other baggage that keeps you from figuring out who you are.”
Shadlyn, how did you get to be so wise?
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Mary,
that was so beautiful. Thank you for sharing. I have been lucky enough to be close enough to be where my ancestors lived for generations. The feeling of being owned/owning when i land back at these root spaces – every once in six months – is always special ( i literally breathe far better and it is not the ‘vacation’ feeling), so am really happy for you when you write about discovering your roots after so long.
God bless.
Shine
I agree about the part you mentioned of being rootless. My reason is that I consider myself to be an adult TCK (Third Culture Kid) who was raised in different parts of the world before starting my own family in California.
What a wonderful post Mary! Thanks you so much for sharing your journey and what you found about about your dad’s! I grew up thinking my dad’s roots were in Yugoslavia until a phone call in my 30′s with him revealed that he had just said that because he used to get made fun of by other kids in his neighborhood. It seems his parents actually emigrated to the US from Trieste which was part of Austria at that time and now part of Italy. I remember my brother and I were shocked like we had just learned the foundation of what we thought had been ripped out from under us. It was a strange feeling.
As a matter of fact, I think my fascination with getting to the root of anything — root meaning, understanding, seeing the patterns and connections in what motivates me and the people I work with — which not so coincidentally has become the body of my work — is very much correlated to understanding the roots of where I come from. It’s that connection that feels like you have found home.
I love that your friend could actually see this transformation in your appearance. So cool!
Thanks so much for sharing your insights and experience!
Hi Mary, What a beautiful story! Having had the pleasure of meeting you at Arvind’s party in London just after your pilgrimage…I could see how deeply it had touched you by the glow around you as you recounted your journey. Perhaps it was the spirit of your Father that enveloped you in that glow! Thank you so much for sharing your emotional journey with us.
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Hi all, just been reading all the wonderful comments that people have added. I have a story i would like to share. My father returned to Italy after my mothers death, when i went to visit him i had this overwhelming sense of belonging. I feel now that the land of my ancestors are calling me and it is like a magnet that i have no control over. I cant explain why, but i know i will live in my fathers house one day and i will live out my days in Italy. Growing up in the UK in the 60′s i always felt as though i didn’t belong and i didn’t fit in. When i first went to Italy, my name didn’t stand out and my skin colour blended in with every one else’s. I felt so at home and it is though i had lived in Italy all of my life and the UK is where i am a immigrant.
I lost my father when I was six years old. Didn’t know who he was or where he came from. For reasons unknown to me still after fifty years, my mother detached herself from my father’s family, moving us away and refusing to speak about them. I was not allowed to speak about any of my father’s family and the last time I saw any of them was in 1963 when my grandfather and grandmother attended my Bar Mitzvah. I felt that my tree of life and been uprooted and chopped in half. I have always felt a void in my life because I have lost those roots and do not know where I came from.