Where I am.
I would share with you a soft and soothing scene. A glimpse of a connection to be. A description of the pastoral view before me. Another time. When I see it, feel it, and find it. Don’t get me wrong. It is truly beautiful here. It’s just not mine. Not here. Not yet.
We have arrived. Here for now. But alas as every traveler knows, arrival is only temporary. The journey is far from over.
For those expecting grief and some longing for the past, turn the page or close the book for you won’t find that here. For one, that’s not my style. I’m not one to cling to yesterday. In fact, I’d rather not cling at all. For two, it just aint there. Only a sense of relief, of strength and growth, of self understanding, and probably a stronger marriage and family because of it. We did it, together. After all these years of planning and trying, we finally made it happen.
Is it what we expected? Funny thing there. We had no expectations. We never looked ahead for what we’d find, only looked behind at what we were tied to. It was all about leaving. And now we’re free. Floating rather precariously perhaps, but free.
Where am I? I do not yet know… I could point it out to you on a map, but I do not yet feel it, know it, have secret places, and intimate connections. Perhaps I never will remain here long enough to create all that. I’m not sure there’s quite enough room for me. My feral side feels somewhat caged.
What I miss are the wilds. Not the ranch. Not those mountain. But the ability for me to be untamed, unbound, and a little bit uncontrolled. So far here I feel trapped between neighbors in plain sight, private property fencing me in, headlights shining in my windows, and an easement road running through my front yard.
We said it would be temporary. We didn’t know just how temporary, but no matter. The ball got rolling. As Bob told me yesterday, we leaped and the net appeared. Problem is there are a bunch of holes in that net, so we’re not settled yet. And as we slip through further, lo and behold, our wings begin to grow.
So last night after unpacking and pushing aside most of the boxes that carried our past to our present, and preparing a meal of steak au poivre with the last of our Highland beef, we settle in amongst the orange shag carpet and 1970’s veneer paneling, poured a glass of wine from a big white box, and enjoyed a candle lit dinner in front of the fake gas fire place.
I end with this quote, borrowed from a source I have not traced but cannot take credit for these words as mine:
“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass….it’s about dancing in the rain.”
Gin Getz 
I admire what you have done. I look forward to hearing about your adventure as it unfolds. I wish you and Bob the best, and want to express how grateful I am that you allowed me to work for you.
With your smiling face a regular on the front porch, it was a true pleasure to have you with us…
I am glad to hear that you have arrived safely and in good order.
You write: “What I miss are the wilds…..the ability for me to be untamed, unbound, and a little bit uncontrolled. So far here I feel trapped between neighbors in plain sight, private property fencing me in, headlights shining in my windows, and an easement road running through my front yard.” I know that feeling. Yes, it can be disconcerting. But there is still the freedom of having some control over one’s destiny, of being able to earn a living. There is the joy of friendship, of being respected. It’s different, really a bit pedestrian, but good nonetheless.
It’s a shock not being a brave pioneer in the wilderness anymore. But know that you did not fail. Simply you did your tour of duty at the frontier, and acquitted yourself well. Now you are free to enjoy what you find back behind the front line.
Welcome home, Gin, to your new home. May you be happy and enjoy this new place.
Wait! Please do not make assumptions just yet that my wild ways and days are done with. For I’m thinking perhaps they are but waiting to bloom again, in a different place, a different ways and means. I’m not ready to toss in the towel just yet and move to town. This is but a stepping stone, or a stumbling block, depending on which way you want to see it. But it’s not where I will remain, I can pretty well promise you that. That said, my challenge here is to find happiness – or rather create it – even in the interim. And then figure where I’m off to next. For there is more to come, Julian… there is more!
Hoping that you enjoy the moments, for as long as they last… never a stumbling block, and don’t let it be just a “stepping stone” for every place has something precious to share! And when it is time for you to move to the next leg of the journey, may you discover that you made good memories and lasting friendships!
An excellent reminder, Maggie, and so true. Interesting for I am finding such wonderful peopel here… open, sharing, active, interesting and interested. Refreshing for me in a new way. Fascinating how life unfolds.
Well Gin,
I so get it! I feel so much in what you’ve written but I still, to this day, feel slightly locked up and unable to express myself regarding all the change that has been forced upon me as I try to pretend I inspired it… I know that run-on sentence isn’t grammatically correct but I know you’ll take it as intended!
I can taste that “wild” and “unbound” void that you speak of…The land and space that we left is just that…It’s also very lonely. Cold, hard and without much forgiveness of heart…ya know? I do and don’t miss everything being hard and sharp and extreme. I believe you may enjoy the warmth and perhaps ease of moving in your new spot. I like your indifference toward it and I love that you invest primarily in what you left and are open to what lies ahead. Although our reasons for moving and changing are (drastically) different, I think we all feel similar. Because we are lovers. Lovers of land, emotion, reason and purpose. Lovers of love. I’m just trying not to let fear creep in…I get scared.
And I am scared, sister. And yes, lovers of all those things, so simple it seems at times, but so complex. A tangled web, no doubt. Sticky and hard to find your way through, but nothing more magnificent shining in the first light of morning when covered with dew.
You mention how “cold, hard” it was there, and although the darkness we are finding in the far north here is shocking, the people have been so much warmer. A tremendous sense of community I am finding already. Only one week here. It blows me away! And reminds me what was missing. The shallowness of the pretty face we left behind. There is great depth in the true warmth of love.
And you’d be surprised how similar our reasons for leaving are. In our case, part of Bob’s family. We gave up on what was to be our “forever home” because of them. Chased off in a way, but like you, acting strong, trying “to pretend I inspired it.” No doubt. But sometimes all it takes is starting with pretend, and then reality appears.
So we try to be strong. Though we are scared. And we get stronger. And we learn to turn to others for help. And we learn to let tears flow. And we find the very essence of the beauty of life, because it can’t be found in the “nice and easy.” It lurks and shows its stunning face only for those brave enough to dig in.
Dig in, Sister. I’m with you.
I’ve just found your blog, after you found mine, and I am drawn in by your writing … I’ve only read a few posts, but this one kind of got me. I’m not sure why – maybe it’s the adventurousness, the unknown, the settled/unsettled nature of it – not sure.
It seems natural and untamed, true. I like that in your writing. Thanks.