grounding without roots.
By the time I turned fifteen, I had lived in twenty-six different houses. I’d been shuffled between New Zealand and Australia, and then back to New Zealand before starting high school. It’s a strange experience to bounce around without solid ground, a feeling many of us know and wish we didn’t. We often look at those who remained rooted in their upbringing and wonder what might have been.
thirteen year old breezus, airwalk hard.
The real pain in my metaphorical buns was not knowing my roots. This wasn’t about my caregivers’ inability to settle in one place but about feeling like I had no home, no love, and no real place in the world. This story is all too common. It’s not about vilifying parents and caregivers but acknowledging that many of us grew up without our vulnerable parts ever being held with love. A friend recently said, “Connecting ultimately requires vulnerability.” But in a society so self-focused, how do we connect through vulnerability when we haven’t been taught to accept ourselves, including our guilt and shame?
Looking at my family history, I see they did the best they could with what they had. My father, a career criminal who victimised vulnerable people, is said to have fathered seven children with various women. The only connection offered to his kids was through abuse or, in my case, complete abandonment. I’m chuffed with the latter. My other parent came from an Irish and Scottish background, cultures shaped by stoicism, alcoholism, and an avoidance of emotional vulnerability. For my mother’s side of the family, practicality often overshadowed any form of soft, nurturing love. Everyone did their best with the resources and knowledge they had. Yet, it can be hard to be a part of the generation who now knows better.
I’ve spent years grappling with my sense of cultural or, more directly, emotional identity. Walking around feeling homesick without knowing where home is can disorient self-identity. I considered different physical places — Aotearoa, ‘Australia’, Ireland, Scotland — trying to find where I truly belonged.
The resolution for my fractured identity is to embrace being a spiritual tourist. As a tourist, I am free to create a future founded on the present moment and forge genuine relationships. Without rigid tethers, I can define who I am and build stronger emotional roots for the next generation.
Right now, I’m focused on the wrong things: comparing my income to peers, seeking recognition, and chasing short-lived moments of self-importance. For a while, I didn’t even stop to think whether I enjoyed the company I kept. Do I even like these friends? I guess we shouldn’t worry about actually liking the people we’re around. Just hold your beer, smile for the smartphone, and hit post when you’re ready.
I want to stop being a bad tourist, who takes curated photos to look like I’m having a good time, and become a spiritual tourist who genuinely enjoys the present moment. The experiences I could enjoy are happening right now, in the micro moments of life. Michael, who runs my local café (props to Hilda Marguerita Eatery, Preston), greets me with a smile every day and shares a small story from his week. He even discounts my coffee when I pay in cash. The young guy who leads my gym classes greets everyone by name, without fail, every single day. My baby son lights up whenever I play the guitar, even if it’s terrible. To him, I’m the ginger-nut version of Dave Grohl. Recently, when I was overwhelmed by the ego of others, my wife brought me chocolate and a kiss on my crinkly forehead. It’s easy to miss these moments, and honestly I did until I wrote them down just now.
Western, predominantly white cultures often deprioritise community, compassion, and humility while overstating social comparison and individual achievement. It’s time to do the opposite of everything this detached western world convinces you to do. Go and cry in nature, instead of filming it on TikTok. Drink a coffee at your local cafe and smile at one human before you leave. Stand up for something you believe in, something that serves the common good not just yourself. Most importantly, find the same level of compassion for yourself that you would give to someone else who is struggling. Sometimes, people I support in counselling ask, ‘Isn’t it narcissistic to focus on myself?’
Self-compassion isn’t narcissism; it’s nurturing your inner roots which is a conduit to authenticity in this very short life.
BK Baker (Bree).
