being here

entry no. 04

Life here is different in many ways than life was, nine months ago. I sometimes look around and wonder how it happened, but I know it happens like this: One job accepted, two jobs resigned. A lease agreed to, and another amended. All of this in preparation for a one-way roadtrip to a place we've hardly been.

One change leads to another, then another, and another after that. Suddenly, life transforms. With every change, my feet begin to settle and then the ground shifts once again beneath me. Every step has brought me here and I'm grateful. Still, I find myself hoping for things to be steady, again.

Life is in constant, fluctuating motion. It moves quickly and slowly, loudly and softly, harshly and gently. We can’t always control the pace but when the pace gets out of control, finding ways to adjust becomes necessary. This balance begins with an honest assessment of where we are, now.

Nine months ago, life looked steady on the surface but felt unsteady underneath. I felt restless in my own life, unsure where I wanted to be, but pretty sure I couldn’t stay where I was.

Now, I’m no more sure of my destination, but I’m becoming more and more certain there is joy found in just going there.

After all, life is like this. The years in my childhood home are years that I cherish, but not years I want to live in forever. Equally, I don’t wish for the eternal awkwardness of adolescence or the perpetual limbo of my college years. Each phase has been beautiful and necessary in its own way, bringing me from one to the next, and finally, to here.

Here is another place I won't be forever. Here is a stop along the journey, like every here that came before. The impermanence of now and uncertainty of what’s next could either be an agitation, or an invitation to cherish here while it lasts.

Here, after all, is a beautiful place.

Here, walking beneath miles of trees until my feet are tired. Here, curled up on the couch, reading and writing and gazing out windows. Here, living in the kind of place I dreamed of living in, one day. Here, showing up for the kinds of good things that scare me, just a little. Here, having happy conversations and hard conversations. Here, crying and laughing and dancing and praying. Here, where the world felt small and dark for a bit and here, where it’s beginning to feel bigger and brighter again.

I am learning, still (and always) that fleetingness makes every moment all the more beautiful. There is wonder in the repetition of these wonderful, monotonous, impermanent things. That every day, for generations, we have been chasing after another breath, step, hug, kiss, laugh, gift, meal that's here, then gone, then here again.