Most everyone's first question to me lately has been "how are things going?" or "how are you settling in?" Most with a bit of trepidation, as in "are you freaking out a little?" As if, instead of moving 800 miles, to a place I lived for 17 years, I have suddenly landed on a foreign planet.
The simple answer is, I'm doing great, actually.
The complex answer is, well, a bit more complex.
The Quiet Isolation
When I first got back, and especially once I actually moved into my house, I was experiencing something akin to agoraphobia. Which I, obviously, couldn't talk about until I got through it. The first few days that I was here, the sheer amount of space that was all my own was overwhelming. And to make matters even more pressing is the quiet.
Never in my life have I had so much space all to my own. Growing up, I lived on a farm, but my parents and/or my brother were nearly always around. And even if I were at home alone, it was never for long. And from there, it was college where I was sharing a space smaller than my bedroom growing up with another person. Living with and on top of a couple of hundred other people. And living on a college campus, it was always loud. Then, it was on to my first apartment. Which, even though it was my own space, nearly 850 square feet of it, there were still people around, neighbors, cars driving by. And from there, I just kept moving to having more and more people around me. When I first moved to DC, I had 3 roommates, in a row house, and two dogs. And even down to my last apartment, my closest neighbor was 3 feet away.
Now, my closest neighbor is over a quarter mile away. And I'm surrounded by fields on every side. Even as I was adjusting, my mind told me that I was completely safe, and that there was nothing wrong with being the only person within a quarter mile radius. But, because it was a bit irrational (and I knew it at the time, but it's irrational, so I can't exactly talk myself out of it) I felt as though I were safer living with hundreds of other people on top of me.
Put it another way, I was more afraid of the boogeyman living in my basement than I was of the hundreds of other people living around me who potentially (if never in actuality) could have caused me harm.
But it's ok now, because I've gotten through that part of adjustment. And it no longer weirds me out that it's just me. And it's a completely normal thing to be laying in bed, and can hear a train whistle blow in the middle of the night. Knowing that the train tracks are over 2 and a half miles away. And I can here it as if it were in my back yard. And it's completely normal to go on a 12 mile bike ride, and never be out of sight of my house. It's all just...normal now.
The Color of Your Thumb
As I have said in previous posts, I was never much one for gardening, or working outside. My only successful efforts in raising a plant was not killing my houseplant, Fergi, who, I am now quite certain, is impossible to kill. Trust me, there have been many attempts made at his life. But he's still kickin'.
And forget about mowing the lawn.
So, believe me when I say, I do not think my thumb was green. At all. Not that I had a black thumb. I always imagined that it was more...purple. You know, because I'm a bit accident prone. And am more likely to have hit it with a hammer (or run into a wall, or smash it in a drawer, or door), than successfully grow something.
But since I have been back, I have spent more time working outside, on my yard, building a flower bed, and other assorted fun stuff. Literally, I built a flower bed. Ok, not completely from scratch. There had been a bed there before, but I completely re-built it. And made it look, you know, nice. And planted stuff in it. And decorated it with an old garden fork that I found in the shed.
And now, I apparently can't stop. Once I was finished with that project, I immediately started working on my next project (which will get started this morning). I went to Menards yesterday, and bought some new pots to put around outside. And, well, I went a little crazy buying some flowers. I just couldn't help myself. They're all so cute, and colorful. And they were on sale. I kinda had to.
I came back home after my shopping spree, and told my dad that I think I need a little color in my life. After living in a boring, colorless apartment, with hardly any adornments, such as flowers, I think I need a little bit of that. Not only for the time that I spend doing it (let's face it, I have some free time now). But also, caring for the outside of the house has made me feel like this is actually my place. It's helped me settle in.
But beyond that, seeing the results of all my efforts has given me something I didn't know I needed:
Tangible Results.
Every morning, I open my windows, and I see what I have done. I see the results of all of my hard efforts.
Before I moved home, I felt as though I were floundering. I had no idea what my purpose in life was to be. But I knew that sitting in a cube for 8 hours a day, mostly being bored out of my mind, wasn't it. Yes, I helped people, and I made money. But the job, and my life in DC was rarely satisfying.
Since moving back to IL, I have worked harder than I have in many years. And in the last month, I have probably spent more time with my parents than I have in the 3 and a half years preceding my move.
Last Sunday, after church, someone asked how my new job was going. And I said that it was going good, and my dad added that I had only worked one day since being home. I immediately corrected him, by saying, I've worked pretty much every day since moving back. I've only made money on one of those days.
But I'm ok with that. Because I look around me, and I see the results of my efforts. And I feel lucky that I can now see that. The boring workday isn't something that is a rare occurrence, especially in today's society. Everyone needs to make money to survive. But how many of us truly feel a sense of satisfaction with their days work? Like I said, I feel lucky.
The Wave
When I first got back, there were definitely moments when I felt as though I were in a completely foreign land. But at the same time, there were a few things that just automatically came back to me. As though I had never left. The big one I can point out is the wave. Now, this is a country life thing. People living in, and driving in the country wave at one another when you pass someone on the road. It's a friendly gesture. Something that definitely wouldn't happen in big cities. In fact, if you tried, you'd be more likely to get a middle finger salute in return as opposed to a wave.
Now, with so many "city folk" living out in the country now, not everyone partakes of the wave. Just like not everyone realizes that on some of these narrow country roads, it's common courtesy to move over when you meet another car. But there are still many people that do wave in return.
Growing up, the wave pretty much consisted of raising one or two fingers from the steering wheel as you meet another car. Which is still around, and the current method that I use. But I have also noticed that there is a new wave phenomenon going on. In which some people (mostly women) use more of a windshield wiper wave, as opposed to the raised finger(s). It was a little weird in the beginning. But I'm getting used to it. And now see it as an acceptable form of greeting.
Any Regrets?
By now, you may be wondering (though I hope not) if I regret the decision that I've made. And, I absolutely do not. There are a few moments, often when something in my house breaks, and I have to get my dad to fix it, that I casually wonder what I have gotten myself into. But then, he fixes said problem. And I go back to being ecstatic that I'm here. And beyond anything else, I feel more certain than ever that this was definitely the right decision.
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