Rooted: The Golden Light of Changing & Evolving
by Robin Allen
Lately, I have found myself thinking about the things that no longer look the way I thought they would.
There are plans I once felt certain about that have changed. There are things I spent years building that I now see differently. There are questions about work, purpose, family, and what comes next that don't have the easy answers they once seemed to have.
Plus, there are the quieter realizations — the ones that come when the house is quiet, when I'm driving, or when I have a moment to myself and realize that I am not the same woman I was five or ten years ago.
Sometimes music helps me make sense of those moments.
I've been listening to “Golden” by Jill Scott, a song that captures the feeling of stepping into something brighter and allowing yourself to embrace what comes next. There is something about music that can reach us before we have found the words ourselves. A song can remind you of who you were, meet you exactly where you are, or make you believe that something different might still be possible.
That is what change can feel like. Not always dramatic. Not always certain. Sometimes it is simply the quiet realization that you are ready for something new.
Rooted means different things
I used to think being rooted meant knowing exactly where you belonged. It meant having a place, a plan, a sense of certainty about who you were and where your life was going. It meant standing firmly in what you had built and holding on to the things that made you feel secure.
But I'm beginning to see it differently.
Maybe being rooted isn't about staying in one place. Maybe it's about knowing yourself well enough that you can move when life requires you to move without losing the person you are underneath it all.
That distinction has become increasingly meaningful to me because life changes.
Sometimes we choose the change, and sometimes it chooses us. A career ends. A relationship changes. Children grow up. Parents age. Friendships shift. Dreams evolve. The plans we made for ourselves don't always unfold the way we imagined they would.
And then there are the quieter changes, the ones no one else necessarily sees.
You wake up one morning and realize you don't want the same things anymore. You realize that something you spent years building no longer feels like home. You recognize that the woman you became to survive one season of your life may not be the woman you need to be for the next one.
That kind of realization can be both unsettling and freeing.
I think many women, and especially many Black women, understand that tension. We have often been taught to be strong, to persevere, to keep going, to take care of our families, our careers, our responsibilities, and sometimes everyone else's needs before our own.
We learn how to endure difficult seasons and keep moving even when we are tired. There is strength in that. There is history in that.
Discover the root of change
But there is also a question that eventually asks to be answered: What happens when the woman who has spent her life holding everything together realizes she is ready to grow in a different direction?
That question has stayed with me. And lately, when I think about it, I think about trees. There is something about a tree that makes me slow down and look twice.
I notice the ones that have been standing in the same place for years, perhaps longer than I have been paying attention. They have weathered storms and heat. Their branches have been broken and grown again. Their leaves have appeared, changed color, fallen away, and returned.
From a distance, they seem permanent. But they aren't. They are constantly changing.
That is what makes the tree such a powerful metaphor for our lives.
We tend to think of roots as representing stability. Roots mean home. History. Family. Values. The things that ground us and remind us where we come from.
But roots don't tell a tree to stop growing. They make growth possible. The roots hold the tree firmly enough that its branches can reach. Maybe that is what being rooted is supposed to mean for us too.
Not staying exactly where we are. Not clinging to a version of ourselves simply because she is familiar. Not confusing stability with stagnation.
Being rooted means knowing what is deep within — your values, your wisdom, your history, your faith, your experiences — and trusting that foundation enough to allow yourself to change.
Because the tree doesn't become less rooted when it grows.
It becomes more of what it was meant to be.
Maybe we can do the same.
Rising in the season of change
There are seasons when we build and seasons when we let go. There are moments when we need to hold tightly to what matters and others when we need the courage to release what no longer does.
A tree understands this without ever having to be told. When autumn comes, it doesn't panic because its leaves are changing. It doesn't look at the leaves falling to the ground and decide that something has gone terribly wrong. It lets them go. That doesn't mean the tree has died. It means the season has changed.
There are things we may need to let go of simply because we are entering a different season: old expectations, old definitions of success, old fears, and the belief that our best years are behind us.
There is no expiration date on growth.
A woman can be thirty and discovering herself. She can be forty and redefining herself. She can be fifty and reclaiming herself. She can be sixty and opening a door she once believed had closed. She can be seventy and finally giving herself permission to pursue something she put aside decades earlier.
The shape of growth may change. The pace may change. The things we reach for may change. But the desire to become more fully ourselves does not have to disappear.
That is why being rooted matters.
When you are rooted, change does not have to mean losing yourself.
Your roots can be your values, wisdom, faith, history, experiences, the people who shaped you, and the lessons you learned along the way.
But roots are not supposed to become chains. They are supposed to provide a foundation which supports movement.
Embracing the light of change
Sometimes we have to ask ourselves whether we are staying because something still gives our life meaning or because leaving feels frightening. Whether we are holding on because it is right for us or because someone else expects us to.
Those questions require courage because sometimes the answers force us to admit that we have changed.
And once we acknowledge changes, we can begin asking a different question: What am I growing toward?
A tree doesn't grow randomly. It reaches toward light.
We may not know exactly where our lives are taking us, but we can still move toward greater peace, purpose, creativity, meaningful relationships, wellness, freedom, and a life that feels more honest.
Sometimes the next chapter isn't about becoming someone completely different. It can be about becoming our complete selves.
There is a tree I pass often. I still don't know how old it is, but every year I notice something different about it. Sometimes the branches are full. Sometimes they are bare. Sometimes the tree looks as though it has weathered more than I can imagine.
But it is still there. Still standing. Still changing. Still reaching. And maybe that is the reminder we need when we find ourselves in a season of change.
We don't have to be afraid of becoming different. We don't have to choose between honoring where we came from and moving toward where we are going.
We can do both. We can remember our roots while reaching for the sky. We can carry our history without allowing it to define our entire future. We can appreciate the woman we have been while making room for the woman we are becoming.
The roots can hold us.
The branches can stretch.
The seasons can change.
And we can keep growing.
I think about “Golden” again when I reach this point — not because every new beginning is easy, and not because every change leads immediately to something better, but because there is something powerful about allowing yourself to believe that the next season can hold possibility.
Maybe becoming doesn't have to be frightening. Maybe we don't have to know exactly what is waiting for us before we take the next step. Maybe we simply need to trust what has already taken root. Because being rooted doesn't mean being stuck. It means having something deep within us that allows us to move without losing ourselves.
It means knowing where we come from without believing we have to stay there. It means understanding that growth is not a betrayal of who we were. Sometimes growth is the most honest expression of who we are becoming.
Perhaps that is what makes this season different. We are not starting over empty-handed. We are carrying everything we have learned.
Everything we have survived.
Everything we have built.
Everything we know about ourselves now.
We are rooted and we are still reaching with the golden light guiding our direction.
Maybe that is what it means to become golden — not to become someone else, but to step fully into the light of who we are becoming.