Staying and going– I have done both.
One of the first theme papers I wrote in school–maybe sixth grade–was titled “On the Go.” It told of my travels and transitions through 10 or so schools in 6 years and moving cross country, living in 9 states. That’s a lot of going by age 11, which came from having a dad in the U.S. Air Force.
Then I was a stayer for 5 years, pretty much eighth grade through twelfth grade.
Then to junior college, senior college, and seminary. Bounced around South Mississippi for several years.
Then a big GO, to Hannibal, Missouri, where I stayed 24 years–more staying than I knew was possible for me. Maybe more staying than I knew what to do with, but eventually, it was time to go again.
At this point, I have stayed in Hattiesburg for 15½ years and have no plans to go anywhere else.
I know people who have lived all their lives pretty much in the same place. I know many others who have moved many times, always going somewhere new. I have a hard time imagining what it must be like to stay put for a lifetime. But at last, maybe too late, I am learning that if the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, it’s because somebody stayed put so they could water and tend it. Goers don’t even gather moss, let alone cultivate a green lawn. Even more so, moving time after time makes it difficult to nurture gardens of deep friendships and firm attachments.
As Americans, we are a nation of goers. We all came here from somewhere else — if not us, our ancestors. Our icons are the explorers, the frontiersmen, the pioneers. The cry was Go West, young man. Did you see the movie set in Connecticut in the 19th century? Of course not, there aren’t any. Period pieces set in those days are trail epics–the Oregon, the Chisholm, the Humboldt, the Goodnight-Loving, the Santa Fe. The characters move to Lee Marvin’s gravelly whisper of I Was born under a Wandering Star in Paint Your Wagon.
Recently I came across the concept of the vow of stability, which is one of the vows taken by Benedictine monks. For them, it means staying put in the monastery in which they take the vows of the monastic order. Translated more broadly, it means not just tolerating but accepting, not just accepting but appreciating, not just appreciating but finding true joy and gratitude for the place where you are.
In reality, people don’t always have a choice. A lot of folks end up moving quite against their will. Think of the story of Moses in the Bible. He had not planned on leaving Egypt, but when he became a fugitive from justice, he fled into the desert–where he started a new life as a shepherd. Then he ended up going back to Egypt, not because he wanted to but because God called him to go and lead the Israelites from bondage. That’s an extreme example, but many people can identify with wrestling with whether to go or stay and coming to believe, either at the time or later in retrospect, that they were being led by God as the matter unfolded.
Going is sometimes necessary. Opportunity may not be knocking where you are. One door closes, another one opens. Deciding whether to seek a better life in another place or make the best life you can where you are can be confusing. Before making up your mind to go, look around where you are now. Maybe it’s not so bad. Going somewhere else may not be the answer you expect it to be. The you you are where you are now is very likely to be the same you you would be if you were to go somewhere else. The main thing is, wherever you find yourself, and for however long you stay, do what you can to make it a better place during the time you are there. And maybe it’ll grow on you in such a way that you won’t outgrow it and instead will decide to just stay.
Garry Breland 