Title : The Big Move: Two and a Half Years Later. . .
link : The Big Move: Two and a Half Years Later. . .
The Big Move: Two and a Half Years Later. . .
Today's post is the sort I used to write more often but have moved away from lately -- partly because they can take so much to write (and I've tended to hive that energy off for my memoir draft this past year or so). As well, while I love the conversations that can develop around these more instrospective, sustained (and more vulnerable), I'm also aware that the navel-gazing and the longer word counts require some patience on your part. . .
That said, though, after a busy few months -- a trip in October, another in November, all the preparation for and enjoyment of the Christmas season, numerous baby-sitting adventures and grandchildren sleepovers -- I'm beginning to weave the various strands of my ongoing personal interests and goals, creative and physical and social, into a cohesive fabric again. I'm not quite sure yet what I'll make of it, but I'm pleased to be back at the loom, to have the necessary materials close at hand. (And, since I'm not a weaver, that's probably as far as I should venture with that particular analogy.)
But two and a half years into what was a challenging and disruptive move, what I want to write something about is the sense of contentment I've been recognizing recently -- which I think has been highlighted by that recent cycle of busy-ness to fatigue to rest to resumption of activity. A movement from regularity to disruption and back to regularity. A going away and a coming home. . .
In fact, I remarked to my husband just last week that I feel as if the tough part of the relocation might be behind me (I'd say "behind us," except that I think he was there already by Month Three. Or earlier). I have tried not to refer too much to unhappy periods over these past two-and-a-half years (although I've posted about them occasionally, in the interest of honest representation and also to de-stigmatizing depression). I will tell you now, though, that up until this past fall, I would spend a day in tears, a follow-up day still feeling very low but moving slowly back to "normal," approximately once every two or three months.
The triggers for these periods were not always clear, and perhaps they were cumulative and over-lapping -- fatigue, the political climate/state of the world, marital stresses occasioned or exacerbated by the gender politics of #MeToo as well as by the changes retirement has wrought to our domestic patterns. . . But I suspect the biggest factors were my renegotiation of a sense of self post-retirement and the losses I felt at moving from my island home (read this post, and the linked earlier post, to understand why we chose to leave that house).
Loss of the physical home, and of our geographic location on island waterfront (hard to explain how the rhythms of the sea and the seasons inflect and regulate our moods). Perhaps most of all the loss of community, the close-knit island community of 300 or 400 neighbours, but also the larger community in the nearby city where I'd taught for so many years and was often greeted happily by former students who would catch me up on their lives.
Top of the list, though? Friendships. The physical separation from close friends. Living in a new community where I have family and where I'm developing many acquaintances, but where I'm still very short of the kinds of friendships that sustain and nourish and inspire, the kind that operate as the best mirrors in times of self-doubt.
I'm still missing the proximity of good friends. Full disclosure: the day before I began writing this piece, I hit a serious patch of Sad, that bio-chemical trough that won't be ignored, and the trigger or focus was how long it's taking to make new, significant friends at this time, in this place. Close friendships were a gift I enjoyed for most of my adult life. We've made several significant geographical moves, and I was confident about my ability to make friends in new places. Turns out, though, it's much more difficult to meet/make friends when you're neither accompanying young kids to their many activities nor discussing cultural theory with fellow grad students nor commiserating over end-of-term marking in the faculty lounge. . .
Still, I've had wonderful visits with friends I've met through Social Media -- visits in Zagreb, San Francisco, and Edinburgh, just to cite the last six months or so. And I'm seeing my island friends at least every other month -- and having some surprisingly sustaining and entertaining conversations with them via text and email. I've got one close friend in the city, a friend who's known me since high school, and it's been lovely to re-connect with her.
Plus family, of course. A notable benefit of the move has been that it's so much easier to spend time with family, especially with the three grandchildren (and their parents) who live here in the city. Don't think I'm not ever so cognizant of and grateful for that benefit. It's just that sometimes I like the validation friends can offer that I'm more than what my family sees. More than Mom or Nana or Wife or Older Sister or Aunt. . .
I didn't finish this post when I began it on the weekend -- had to put it aside for a visit to a Hammam Spa with my daughters, the best Christmas gift my husband has ever given me. And, come to think of it, another benefit of urban life. . .
Now, though, as I try to finish the post, I'm typing with a very tender right hand. Not sure if it was the plank step-ups (I hate them!) in Sunday's work-out or a bit too much knitting or one text conversation on my too-heavy iPhone. But I do know that I'm going to have to baby it for a few days, so this post will have to be truncated. Let's see if I can sum up quickly though and round off into some kind of conclusion that you can turn into a bit of a chat as we share wisdom and experience. . .
Despite my lingering sadness and/or impatience about not yet having the friends I'd like to have right nearby, I'm relieved -- even delighted?! -- to find myself increasingly content with life here in the city. We're finding how to make the smaller space work for us; we've found caregivers (dentist, GP, physio, massage therapist, personal trainer) and service providers (mechanic, cobbler, electrician) at least equal to what we had before; we've got favourite plant nurseries; a choice of micro-breweries; so many restaurants; numerous art galleries; a gym we love right in our building. . .
I will probably never stop wanting more time closer to the natural world, and we're figuring out how to manage that. And the noise of the city is still a problem regularly (and with two big condo-construction projects just underway within a block, it's only going to increase). But I'm thinking that finally, I'm over the worst of it. Not just that, but I think I'm experiencing more and more of the best of it. . . When we decided to move, we deliberately chose to do so while we were young enough to control a move that we knew was going to be really tough, especially given the logistics of island life. It has been. We were, though, able to control it and manage it ourselves as we would not have been able to do, I suspect, if we'd left it to late 70s or even into our 80s.
And I thought you'd like to know that -- two and a half years later -- I'm even more convinced that it was the right move to make, and I'm content in my new home (well, most of the time -- I'm allowed to whine occasionally, please?;-)
My right arm is really protesting now, thumb-wrist-shoulder, so I'm going to hand the mic over to you. Comments always welcome. I'd love to read a conversation about retirement, about mid-to-late-life moves, about friendships old and new -- and making them later in life in new places. . .
That said, though, after a busy few months -- a trip in October, another in November, all the preparation for and enjoyment of the Christmas season, numerous baby-sitting adventures and grandchildren sleepovers -- I'm beginning to weave the various strands of my ongoing personal interests and goals, creative and physical and social, into a cohesive fabric again. I'm not quite sure yet what I'll make of it, but I'm pleased to be back at the loom, to have the necessary materials close at hand. (And, since I'm not a weaver, that's probably as far as I should venture with that particular analogy.)
But two and a half years into what was a challenging and disruptive move, what I want to write something about is the sense of contentment I've been recognizing recently -- which I think has been highlighted by that recent cycle of busy-ness to fatigue to rest to resumption of activity. A movement from regularity to disruption and back to regularity. A going away and a coming home. . .
In fact, I remarked to my husband just last week that I feel as if the tough part of the relocation might be behind me (I'd say "behind us," except that I think he was there already by Month Three. Or earlier). I have tried not to refer too much to unhappy periods over these past two-and-a-half years (although I've posted about them occasionally, in the interest of honest representation and also to de-stigmatizing depression). I will tell you now, though, that up until this past fall, I would spend a day in tears, a follow-up day still feeling very low but moving slowly back to "normal," approximately once every two or three months.
The triggers for these periods were not always clear, and perhaps they were cumulative and over-lapping -- fatigue, the political climate/state of the world, marital stresses occasioned or exacerbated by the gender politics of #MeToo as well as by the changes retirement has wrought to our domestic patterns. . . But I suspect the biggest factors were my renegotiation of a sense of self post-retirement and the losses I felt at moving from my island home (read this post, and the linked earlier post, to understand why we chose to leave that house).
Loss of the physical home, and of our geographic location on island waterfront (hard to explain how the rhythms of the sea and the seasons inflect and regulate our moods). Perhaps most of all the loss of community, the close-knit island community of 300 or 400 neighbours, but also the larger community in the nearby city where I'd taught for so many years and was often greeted happily by former students who would catch me up on their lives.
Top of the list, though? Friendships. The physical separation from close friends. Living in a new community where I have family and where I'm developing many acquaintances, but where I'm still very short of the kinds of friendships that sustain and nourish and inspire, the kind that operate as the best mirrors in times of self-doubt.
I'm still missing the proximity of good friends. Full disclosure: the day before I began writing this piece, I hit a serious patch of Sad, that bio-chemical trough that won't be ignored, and the trigger or focus was how long it's taking to make new, significant friends at this time, in this place. Close friendships were a gift I enjoyed for most of my adult life. We've made several significant geographical moves, and I was confident about my ability to make friends in new places. Turns out, though, it's much more difficult to meet/make friends when you're neither accompanying young kids to their many activities nor discussing cultural theory with fellow grad students nor commiserating over end-of-term marking in the faculty lounge. . .
Still, I've had wonderful visits with friends I've met through Social Media -- visits in Zagreb, San Francisco, and Edinburgh, just to cite the last six months or so. And I'm seeing my island friends at least every other month -- and having some surprisingly sustaining and entertaining conversations with them via text and email. I've got one close friend in the city, a friend who's known me since high school, and it's been lovely to re-connect with her.
Plus family, of course. A notable benefit of the move has been that it's so much easier to spend time with family, especially with the three grandchildren (and their parents) who live here in the city. Don't think I'm not ever so cognizant of and grateful for that benefit. It's just that sometimes I like the validation friends can offer that I'm more than what my family sees. More than Mom or Nana or Wife or Older Sister or Aunt. . .
I didn't finish this post when I began it on the weekend -- had to put it aside for a visit to a Hammam Spa with my daughters, the best Christmas gift my husband has ever given me. And, come to think of it, another benefit of urban life. . .
Now, though, as I try to finish the post, I'm typing with a very tender right hand. Not sure if it was the plank step-ups (I hate them!) in Sunday's work-out or a bit too much knitting or one text conversation on my too-heavy iPhone. But I do know that I'm going to have to baby it for a few days, so this post will have to be truncated. Let's see if I can sum up quickly though and round off into some kind of conclusion that you can turn into a bit of a chat as we share wisdom and experience. . .
Despite my lingering sadness and/or impatience about not yet having the friends I'd like to have right nearby, I'm relieved -- even delighted?! -- to find myself increasingly content with life here in the city. We're finding how to make the smaller space work for us; we've found caregivers (dentist, GP, physio, massage therapist, personal trainer) and service providers (mechanic, cobbler, electrician) at least equal to what we had before; we've got favourite plant nurseries; a choice of micro-breweries; so many restaurants; numerous art galleries; a gym we love right in our building. . .
I will probably never stop wanting more time closer to the natural world, and we're figuring out how to manage that. And the noise of the city is still a problem regularly (and with two big condo-construction projects just underway within a block, it's only going to increase). But I'm thinking that finally, I'm over the worst of it. Not just that, but I think I'm experiencing more and more of the best of it. . . When we decided to move, we deliberately chose to do so while we were young enough to control a move that we knew was going to be really tough, especially given the logistics of island life. It has been. We were, though, able to control it and manage it ourselves as we would not have been able to do, I suspect, if we'd left it to late 70s or even into our 80s.
And I thought you'd like to know that -- two and a half years later -- I'm even more convinced that it was the right move to make, and I'm content in my new home (well, most of the time -- I'm allowed to whine occasionally, please?;-)
My right arm is really protesting now, thumb-wrist-shoulder, so I'm going to hand the mic over to you. Comments always welcome. I'd love to read a conversation about retirement, about mid-to-late-life moves, about friendships old and new -- and making them later in life in new places. . .
Thus articles The Big Move: Two and a Half Years Later. . .
that is all articles The Big Move: Two and a Half Years Later. . . This time, hopefully can provide benefits to you all. Okay, see you in another article post.
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