Wherever I go, there I am

This blog is something of an ice breaker.  Between upending our lives, and settling in half way across the state, over a month has passed since my last post.

Truth be told, I am experiencing a roller coaster of emotions.  If the first week is shock, the second week is grief, fear, and sometimes joy.  I am uncertain what most people experience upon moving, but this move involved leaving most of my support system: my therapist, friends, and mom (although “mommy” seems more appropriate in this context).  Some days I know it was a good idea, some days I am tempted to find a sweet little home in West Seattle and move back.

Inevitably I underestimated a few things.  I underestimated how lonely I would feel.  I underestimated how comforting the familiar is.  I underestimated how much this place would remind me of my father, and how many negative emotions would be triggered.  Even while typing, I am reminded not to judge my emotions too harshly.

Wherever I go, there I am.  It seems I am still me, even here.  I still have PTSD, I still need to write, I still want a confidant, I still need to work out to stay sane, I still love silence, red wine, my family, and coffee (in no particular order).

Eli and Sofia adore it here.  They get to adventure outside every day, make new friends, play with their peers, and be adored by countless adults.

The beauty is incomparable.  Walking outside each morning, I am taken aback at the spectacular place we are privileged to live.  Wednesday after work I ran through Glacier Peak Wilderness, with wind raging through the valley.  The only sounds being that of my feet pushing through leaves already on the ground, and the wind which sounded more like a beast.  First warning me not to go deeper into the wilderness and then chasing me back to the village.  By the time I was within 2 miles of the village I felt like I was flying, part wind and part beast myself. 

Our living space is perfect.  A lot of thought went into making us feel welcome and at home.  I’m thankful for that.  Inside my closet door, the previous tenant left a gift.  Large black letters formed by electrical tape say, “BREATHE”.  Next to those letters is a small note card: 

“Breathing in I calm my body, breathing out I smile. 

Dwelling in the present moment, I know this is a wonderful moment.”

It appears the previous occupant and I have more in common than this bedroom.  I silently repeat the mantra several times a day.