A Little Bit About My Roots

A writer whom I greatly respect asked me, based on my previous entry, "What are the roots of you?  And how do they grow?"
 
My answer may change daily, according to what parts of me feel more highlighted on that day, and where or how I think those parts emerged or have developed.  My first instinct right now is to say pain, suffering, and self-control, winding out and stretching from first to last, the latter of which minimizes the formers.  One type of the above-mentioned root that comes to mind is disaster, speechless shock, emotional superglue, and a breathtakingly elegant finish that’s hard to see past.  But when I touch it, or it touches me, I can see and feel all the way through it, and I stroke it tenderly.  Another in this classification would be insecurity, masochism, emotional outlet, and self-reasoning.  Growth occurs at the ends of the roots, at any point before the end, as thickness, or in altogether new branches.  
 
Solitude, dream, and creation pretty much sum up a different type of root in me.  When loneliness leads me to something favorable, or blankness leads me on a fulfilling mission, these stem from this type of root.
 
Thought, exploration, and modification, as a pattern, lead me on continuous and infinite quests for perfection or for deeper and further explanations of things.  In the physical, intellectual, and emotional worlds, everything has to make sense to me.  I have to dig and examine to a particle-based level until it does.  My own personal scientific method holds many branches up.  But because there are so many possibilities to consider within every use of this, a portion of the ends and middles are or can easily become laced with insecurity. 
 
I feel like these have all begun in me before I can even remember.  There are more patterns of roots, I’m sure, but these are what come to mind today.  This is also only one way among many of wording or looking at this.
 
On a person, roots don’t only show themselves underground, or on the inside, or even just above the surface.  They move with us daily; they waft, drag, or tiptoe; they wrap around and/or inside our whole or partial selves, giving us warmth and reassurance or scratching at the beams of our painstakingly erected security, in varied intensities.  One could also say that they remain steadfast inside us and never change, and though I believe that to a degree, I think that as I change in little ways, the roots of me naturally change and grow to support that present self, or perhaps the reverse is true:  the roots of me change, keeping the past but adding newness, supporting my then-present self to stand, move, appear, think, and feel the way it does.  A third option is that the branches and roots grow simultaneously, but if that were true, would I always feel ultimately stable?  Or equal on the inside and outside, no matter how stable or unstable?  
 
While it’s true that my inside and outside reflect parts of each other, are interdependent, flow through each other along veins of thought and action, feeling and corporeal expression, I think in me, branches and roots grow or change in little bursts or subtleties, varying which is first according to how serious the motivator, less serious motivators changing branches first and more serious changing roots first.  After a while, the roots must grow to support new branches and branches bloom from the new material in the roots.  
 
A constant struggle for equilibrium in an ever-expanding world of the self.