The new place Wobble

Hi, Friends. 

First of all, I miss you all terribly.  Remember that last post?  How I said at one point I did not want to slow down enough to feel stuff?  Well, “stuff” has slowed ME down so I finally feel it.  Here is how I have been feeling these last couple of weeks/months:

SAD.

Not the ugly kind of sad where you just cry all the time—like when your highschool boyfriend broke your heart—on Valentine’s Day.  Or when your beloved dog dies.  I’d almost prefer that, because after a few days and hugs and boxes of Kleenex, the sad is generally over and you move on with a new puppy or a new cute boy.  (Don’t get me wrong, dog people, I know you don’t recover with lightning speed from that kind of loss, but the big, debilitating grief subsides after a bit.)

I’m sad because I don’t know where I fit yet.  I don’t feel at home in my body because my body is not at “home” yet.  The classes i teach feel so different.  The people here are nice, but different.  Nothing is reliable or familiar.  I even hate the grocery store options here. All of them are just NOT Kroger.  Ugh.

I watch people at work with their alliances and history and banter and I have to be careful not to try too hard to be part of that.  I have to remember that those connections grow organically and if I rush it, they don’t grow at all.  

I’m working on the friendship thing with a few neighbors, but that process is definitely slow-cooker rather than microwave.  Plus, it seems everyone around here grew up here, has family and friends from a hundred years ago, and, as another transplant I know aptly put it, not a whole lot of room around the campfire for new (and suspiciously Southern) folks.  There’s always the nicenesss—the endless stream of polite midwestern banter that makes your face hurt from smiling so forcefully–but real conversation is out of reach, for now.  AND, Minnesotans rival even the most genteel Southern Belles for passive-agressive behaviour.  Just listen to Garrison Keelor on Prairie Home Companion for a weekly description of how 30-year grudges and subterfuge are conducted through the most genuine-looking grins around these parts!

There are bright spots, however.  I really, really, love my job.  I am so glad to be teaching again, and just this last week, my yoga population doubled…..even at a challenging time slot.  So, I hope that’s not a fluke.  I love being in a full-time leadership role again.  I love putting the experience of the last 19 years into practice in a supporting and encouraging environment.  I also have luckily landed a support staff that is completely amazing.  They seem to like what I bring to the table and occasionally even laugh at my jokes.  

My son loves his day-care at the local JCC and the routine has helped him settle in a lot faster than all the rest of us, it seems.  Bailey is beginning to find her feet at school and the staff there are incredibly proactive and helpful all around. My husband enjoys his work and is making more connections with people around him every day.  The house is relatively clean and the laundry pile is a little smaller. It feels good to have the money that two full-time jobs generates.  I find myself laughing pretty much every day at least once.  

I guess I’m sharing all this to help me remember that upheaval like this is no simple matter and that sometimes my optimism is really an attempt to control the sometimes not so sunny reality of my life.  Even so,I don’t like to bog down in “poor me” when there are so many other real problems in this world.  I’m so grateful today that my move was my choice, and not foisted upon me by superstorm Sandy.  My heart goes out to the people in some of the horrific stories I’ve heard and makes me hug my kids and husband lots closer and give many thanks for the VERY sunny reality of my life, relatively speaking.

So, there’s the Wobble for the week—-transition is hard, but could always be worse.  If we keep showing up and doing the next right thing, I believe we will find our new center and our wild instability will quiet down again.  One thing I can say for Wobbling is that it is never boring.  

Hug the people you love, and feel me hugging you.  

Take care,

Leah:)

Here is a pic of my kitchen—a place where life is concrete.  The food tastes good or it doesn’t, and the cooking process is a known entity.  It is a Wobble respite.  Who can relate?