All my life I thought that having deep roots was the best
possible thing. I loved being a Native Daughter of the Golden West. But when I
traveled, I saw new cities where I wanted to live—in Italy ,
and France and Southern
Oregon .
I looked around and saw a whole world waiting to be
explored. But to live there I had to leave here. A dilemma, for sure. I
know I’m not alone, wanting both worlds. I started questioning my old values. And once I started, I couldn't stop.
If enough people believe something, does that make it so? Take,
for example, the sayings: "Change is hard." "What doesn’t kill you makes you
stronger." What if change is exciting and renewing and all things are possible?
What if lack of change slowly sucks the life, one cell
at a time?
But what about huge change? Would it kill me or make me
stronger? I think the answer is, a little of each.
A couple of things have surprised me about moving so far
from “home.” One is how much I admire my husband. Like Adam and Eve, we are the
First Couple, relying on each other in this strange and beautiful paradise. I
watch him with fresh eyes as he builds shelves and repairs gutters. He tends to
a thousand details that will make our house strong in the winter. He works
without expecting to be noticed, but I do. And he makes me feel like Eve.
Another surprise is how much boredom I had been carrying. Everything’s fun again. I’m a fresh helium balloon, filled with possibilities. Something has been removed and the vacuum is being refilled.
In a new kitchen with top-grade appliances and lots of
counter space, I’m cooking turnovers, blackberry pies, ribs and roast chicken.
I bought myself a Le Creuset roasting pan and I’m taking such
pride in cooking. I have my neighbors over for buffalo stew and homemade bread with
new blackberry jam. And it’s not just a hasty meal, it’s an event because they’re
our new friends, a bridge to the community.
On the flip-side, I’m surprised at how heavy I feel some days. I
love it here, but everything seems so serious. I drive with my tongue pressed
against my cheek, concentrating. I pore over newspaper ads looking for clues
for the best shops. I analyze, memorize and when everything is too much, I
hibernate for a few days and start all over again.
A film maker friend is nudging me to show him product, a
script we’re working on, and I am so grounded that it’s hard to be absurd and
witty. Maybe that’s why I’m blogging about that today—a promise to get airborne
again and feel the wind.
Hi Anne, Perhaps getting airborne has to do with our sense of excitement, adventure, fulfillment of the dream. I'm feeling the latter with one book published and the second just days away from making its appearance. During the "dream-state" it was often hard to see or believe this time would come. And so, stagnation, boredom, irritability and other demons rose up from time to time. I definitely prefer my present state of deep contentment, bordering on elation. I know there will be dips and times to hibernate just as you are experiencing. But, nothing can erase that other sensation of joy, marked by disbelief. Enjoy!
ReplyDeleteSo true. I value the small triumphs as highly as I do the big ones these days. One thing that gives me pleasure is writing this blog. Congratulations on your book. I'm buying a Kindle so I can start enjoying my friends' books.
ReplyDeleteIn so many ways, I envy your move and the change. I so love my McKenzie home and couldn't duplicate it anywhere, but sometimes ...
ReplyDeleteI think no matter where you are or how long you've been there, writing is like moving. The elation over being in the thick of the new story vs. when it's done and it's taken years, now comes the maintenance and sales. There's nothing like starting something new. But every "new" gets "old." The dream state, the high flying is only fabulous because we can contrast it to the other.
Enjoy your new home, new friends, new beginnings. The writing is just around the corner.