Decompressing

I wanted to move to the States for more than a year. I longed for it so much that it sat like a wet blanket around my shoulders. I pined for a house in the sun. I cursed the damp uninsulated house with my frost bitten toes three years in a row. Japan could not last. Uprooting my life was more a gamble for a forever situation. Though I may be staggering amongst the hills of Ohio, in a warm and sunny house, my soul has yet to settle here. It waits and, surprisingly, it mourns.

My friend with impeccable timing called to check on me. She who knows too well these things about moving and military life reminded me that these losses of place and of friends take time. We need time to mourn the life we had which is now different. It takes time to make new friends but they come, they always do, some will be easy, some will hard, but with so much awesomeness, she assured me it is inevitable. I gladly drank at the trough of friendship. 

Thankfully, she helped me name my feelings and gave me the sense that this is a normal part of moving, of loss. It was a balm to my confused spirit which has been busy dancing through the day, but is struggling at night in the face of so much good. It's like jet lag when your body has arrived in a time zone that the rest of you has not quite made it too, yet. I'm decompressing from military life abroad on my own timetable.

Having named this confusion though has helped to free me from it. It is miraculous that comprehension of and naming that which stirs at the soul should be its salve.

And so with a swizzle stick I stir the glass and see that I'm neglecting my priorities-- reading, writing, and the real people present in my day. That's when a freshman in college shared a time management tip with me-- create a schedule and spend only the allotted time on each project. 

I wanted to move to the States for more than a year. I longed for it so much that it sat like a wet blanket around my shoulders. I pined for a house in the sun. I cursed the damp uninsulated house with my frost bitten toes three years in a row. Japan could not last. Uprooting my life was more a gamble for a forever situation. Though I may be staggering amongst the hills of Ohio, in a warm and sunny house, my soul has yet to settle here. It waits and, surprisingly, it mourns.

My friend with impeccable timing called to check on me. She who knows too well these things about moving and military life reminded me that these losses of place and of friends take time. We need time to mourn the life we had which is now different. It takes time to make new friends but they come, they always do, some will be easy, some will hard, but with so much awesomeness, she assured me it is inevitable. I gladly drank at the trough of friendship. 

Thankfully, she helped me name my feelings and gave me the sense that this is a normal part of moving, of loss. It was a balm to my confused spirit which has been busy dancing through the day, but is struggling at night in the face of so much good. It's like jet lag when your body has arrived in a time zone that the rest of you has not quite made it too, yet. I'm decompressing from military life abroad on my own timetable.

Having named this confusion though has helped to free me from it. It is miraculous that comprehension of and naming that which stirs at the soul should be its salve.

And so with a swizzle stick I stir the glass and see that I'm neglecting my priorities-- reading, writing, and the real people present in my day. That's when a freshman in college shared a time management tip with me-- create a schedule and spend only the allotted time on each project.