Moving to a new town has left me feeling a bit like a foreigner in these beginning months of transition. I’m the newbie overwhelmed by the slight cultural differences I pick up on every single day from what people wear to how people engage or don’t engage around here. I’m the annoyingly slow driver trying to figure out where I’m going and how to get there because these streets are not the ones I’ve known most of my life. I’m the mama who has to ask a hundred questions about a hundred different things going on at the kids’ schools because we haven’t been a part of this community for years. It’s exhausting for this gal right here (yes, my two thumbs were just pointing toward my cheesy self).
The truth is, trying new things and putting myself out there has always been a struggle. That may sound shocking to some who know of my family adventures to Uganda and my seeker-tendencies that have led to varying vocational paths requiring substantial risk and change. The only explanation I can offer is that when there is a clear and undeniable intuitive sense that a calling is connected to some kind of divine energy, I know well enough to follow that curiosity even if I think it may lead to an anxiety-induced heart attack and do me in for good. Somehow that sense of the Divine compels me enough to move in spite of my own fears and discomforts.
The anxiety that has accompanied this new adventure hasn’t been the paralyzing kind I have known with previous out-of-my-small-comfort-zone experiences. It’s more of a gut-punching every morning reminder that each day continues to require courage. It takes courage to take up space in this world with billions of human beings walking around all over the place. It takes courage to decide that I can make this town, this neighborhood, and this community the place I belong. It takes courage to determine that you can make spaces or places or relationships in this world your home simply because your story has led you there. It takes courage…but it also takes hope. Why muster up the courage to show up day after day if there isn’t first the hope that it even matters?
I am banking on lots of hope these days. I hope that this move wasn’t just a random and unnecessary re-routing. I hope that the lessons we are all learning in this experience mark us for good. I hope that if I keep showing up every day, mustering the courage to face new things and new faces, that my showing up isn’t just for me – that it’s also for the ways I will mark the world around me. I hope that is true for all of us – that our stories matter in this world – that what the world needs is simply for everyone to really just show up every darn day.
Immediately after I sent all but the toddler off on their first day of school with that giant smooch they secretly love but pretend to loathe, I felt a wave of emotion that I instinctively knew I’d need to spend the day unfolding. This was not a surprise arrival. I knew this emotional release was inevitable months ago when we first discovered that life as we knew it would be dramatically shifting in a nanosecond. Look at me trying to sound witty and smart. Confession: I don’t really know what a nanoseconds is, but it sounds super fast, so I’m sticking with it. You see, nanosecond life-shifts by nature don’t allow the time and space to dig into deeper levels of the emotional and psychological processing of our experiences. But emotional data left unprocessed is persistent and perpetually attempts to make its way to the surface. I’ve learned at this point in life that it is much kinder to myself (and SO MUCH kinder to any and all creatures who come in contact with me) to greet the (re)surfacing of emotions with arms wide open. So that’s what I’ve been doing for the past few days – holding space for all that needed to surface.
Perhaps I should back up and catch all of you up just a bit. At the very beginning of our summer, the time of year that I most look forward to for a host of reasons that do not include an affinity for the warmer weather, we discovered that the path my husband’s career was headed down was a dead end and we were in desperate need for some re-routing. Within less than a week’s time, the re-routing we were searching for came clearly into view, but like most experiences in life, it possessed a duffel bag’s worth of pros and cons. Greater financial freedom and advancement in Brian’s career meant another relocation for our gang of six and an ending of sorts for my five year old private therapy practice.
Our summer consisted of selling our house, purging through and packing up our belongings, finding a new place to live and trying to wrap all of our minds around this sudden and unexpected disruption and uprooting of our lives. I knew that the real process of grief likely wouldn’t occur until we had moved through all of the steps involved with the relocation.
By the end of August, the initial relocation process was complete: I finished unpacking and getting everyone situated in their new space, completed and submitted a gazillion forms to process new school enrollment for each of the big girls and registered them for a year’s worth of classes, did all the back-to-school shopping madness, and took care of haircuts all while distributing a multitude of hugs and wiping away many tears as they each continue to grieve and accept this new reality. So there I was, standing at the front door of our temporary home (we’re renting to buy ourselves sometime to figure out where we want to plant our roots) watching each of my terrified yet courageous daughters walk TOWARD their next chapters. And I just knew it was time for me to find enough courage to face mine as well.