Transplanted

Almost one year ago today I moved 2,000 miles away from where I grew up and I left behind a lot–like all my friends, my social circles, my family, our home, the familiarity of my surroundings, etc. And I knew the move was going to be tough, but I wasn’t exactly sure why. Well, fast forward one year and it’s becoming much more clear. This human need to believe in the permanence of our lives is a big deal. Of course we all know deep down that nothing is forever, but who really wants to be reminded of that daily?

With our second move within the city, losing my job, indecision about how long we want to stay here, a bad experience on an airplane, and trees falling on houses, I’m fairly aware of my fragile existence. And I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing–it just doesn’t feel that great.

Why can’t I live forever? Why can’t I have forever to try on a bunch of career hats, maybe save the world a time or two and go on believing that everything I do matters, really, really matters? Or if not live forever, at least let me know what happens after it’s all said and done, just so I know what to expect. Is that just part of the challenge of life? You have this vague sense that you’re mainly just spinning your wheels, but you must have faith that each turn of the wheel is worthwhile?

See. Uprooting yourself leads to some deep thought and tough times that test your character–and resolve. So, do I still recommend it? Wow. I just don’t know for sure! I’ll have to give that some more thought.