This week marks the ending of a journey that has included the passing of time, hope for the future, reflection on the past, physical labor, many stressors, and snapshots that freeze life within a window that may yet dim.
I'm sitting in my makeshift home office. (I find it is important for me to describe the scene so I can fully capture what I am feeling.) Yes, I started a new job last week during all this transition. Because I'm crazy like that. Because it fell into my lap. Because it's going to be a great fit. (I think) I found since last week that I am required to wear glasses almost constantly. I can't see a blessed thing during any meeting to which I am invited. Squinting at the screen. Like I'm eighty. I just sorta hope it's not applicable to me and move on.... Please zoom in, friends, when you are presenting, please zoom in for the old people in the room. We can't see the content on your screen, okay?
We are just newly into our home. It feels surreal, momentous, exciting, sad, and maybe a little out of reach. What do I mean by that? It doesn't feel like we made it. It feels like there must still be a mountain to climb. There must still be a hoop to jump through, right? Something to do, because there is always something more to do. Another nail to pound, another tile to lay, another house to go through, another paper to sign, another night to lay my head and dream of the end.
As you know, I'm at the beginning and it feels different this time. The truth is that starting over doesn't always look the same. When you have been fully through an experience, sometimes you mistakenly assume that you have the full perspective, or, you assume that this is how it will be each time for each person. Jot this down: there is always more than one perspective and the experience will not always be the same for a repeated event.
Reflecting on the first few weeks of boots on the ground. There were some highs and there were some lows. Currently, there is not a relaxed bone in my body. I feel like I haven't been able to breathe for 12 days. You know, really take in and let out a breath. I keep trying to do it, but it doesn't seem to make a difference to the stress that I feel in every part of my being. In this experience, unlike either of the other two, I began a job simultaneously with the move. Honestly, I just don't know how to deal with it in conjunction with everything else. I can't put into words how grateful I am that it will soon be the weekend; I hope to gain my bearings.
I have been most frustrated with the driving portion of this new phase. I'm still tender about it, but I can appreciate the humor. Four days in, we had to return our rental car to the airport because our card had been delivered. This meant that I had to drive as well and bring Ryan back. Imagine me in my favorite black Escape taking the freeway by storm. I was congratulating myself on a job well done as I sailed through the tricky parts and just stopped shy of a literal "Congrats, Ang," when I realized I was getting on the toll road. Now, I know that a photo is generally taken and a charge issued anyway, but at first I thought maybe I had dodged that because there was no "toll booth" that I had passed through to get on. I quickly get off, being closely tailed by my fellow Texans as I slow to go through the exit booth. (In NY, it is very stringent that you must only go 5MPH but then there are actual gates as well.) I want to get away from my fellow Texans and they are all turning left. I think: "I will go straight and get myself together," only to realize I am now getting right back on the freeway. For the love. I just am so upset by this point that I can't continue, although I know I've already been charged and I should just go with it. I get down the ramp and park under the Texaco star and cry.
To recap: Angela in her black Escape goes up the ramp, down the ramp -cha ching, up the ramp, down the ramp-cha ching, parks and cries...well actually....cries and then has to park. It was probably about $6 for that parade which will be billed at Thanksgiving.
The truth is, it happens. It is okay in this life to pull over and get yourself together. It is okay to be upset. It is okay to be angry about it and it is okay to cry. Then, we take a deep breath and go back in even if we would rather not. Being "strong" isn't about not being emotionally compromised or being perfect or fully capable. Being "strong" is about stamina and will. Even if you can't see to drive. Remember that at the beginning or the end or any other time.
Have you ever seen - It's A Wonderful Life? You know in the beginning when it shows the shiny, blinking "stars" that are the angels talking? And, then they kinda zoom in on earth and help Clarence "see" the action? That is how I imagine God looks out for me. The Son comes to the Father and the Father says, "Look here, I want to show you something that I've been monitoring." The picture zooms in, like a satellite, over Texas. He zooms in further until there I am....crying under the Texaco star. The Son says, "Ahh, yes, I know that one, precious. That one was worth every moment of the cross. Let's keep an eye on her. She's a bit dramatic but she might pull it together. Good things are ahead for that one and she will never be out of our sight."
It redeems all the experiences to know that God really looks down on us with that much love and care. Friends, you are dearly loved today and every day. Get back on the freeway and drive on.
There have been more highs than lows this time and we even incorporated a pet. The main downside was sharing the hotel home office with the litter box which required a support candle. I think I'm maturing or just getting used to moving about the cabin. I will likely forget some of the colorful snapshots from this time; it is amazing how much you forget the little details on some things and then other things remain vibrant. I will remember my I45 experience as I already firmly know that number is the toll freeway. I think I will remember the gaudy light fixtures and brass everything that was in the house when I arrived. I will remember how cold and rainy it was the day I left NY and how hot it was when I arrived in Texas. I will remember our first Chic Fil A trip and how we went twice in one day. I will remember eating Whataburger out by the pool on our first night in our new house. I will remember jumping into the first pool I've owned at the end of October. (!) I will remember the feeling that this probably is the last time I will do this with my kids. I will remember how proud I am of the way they adjusted and always think that maybe moving frequently has helped them be more adaptable. (It's a good quality and one I didn't pick up until too late.) The colors of the stress and wrong turns and finding a church and dealing with the schools will fade to swirls of grey and blue. Bright glimpses of the past will include my people, my third baby, the blessing of a wonderful home, and food and laughter amidst the tears that will always come with starting over.
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