My feelings have shifted and changed in the past week or so, in a relieving way. I feel lighter, like I’m holding onto less. But at the same time, this week Eli and I are faced with figuring out when to see each other, scheduling ourselves again, and tiptoeing around other people and what they want. It feels a little bit like our life together is out of our hands. And to be honest, for the amount that I work and the amount that I give and care, that doesn’t feel fair.
But at the same time, it hasn’t completely sucked. I have seen significant changes in my anxiety in the past few weeks. For example, one night last week after my chiropractic adjustment, I went over to Eli’s house and we made dinner. Since I had to both get adjusted and pick up ingredients for dinner, I didn’t even get there until around 6:20. Which means we weren’t sitting down to eat until about 7. At the apartment, I would have freaked out and had a meltdown if we were eating that late. (What can I say, I like food and sleeping. A lot.) But that night, the worry just wasn’t there. All I had in my head was, "oh, LIT. We have like two whole hours to chill out and watch The Office together! And we’re eating food!"
On Sunday I had breakfast with a friend who I’ve been seeing a lot more of lately. I met Eli at an old coffee shop where we used to hang out religiously, and I ran into another friend I made there. Seeing him felt like a good sign. Then we drove around to a bunch of prospective apartments, and found one that felt pretty dang good. Then, we went back to his home, laid down and proceeded to watch The Office all afternoon, a movie at night, and I went home early.
Tonight, after feeling like I’d been at his house too much this weekend, we decided to just hang out in town after my adjustment. We ate paninis at a local cafe, calculated if I could afford the apartment I’m looking at, and looked through old messages from before we were dating. And it was lovely.
It’s amazing to me how often the definition of the word home can change. How quickly it can mean a multitude of different things. How so many people and places can be home, how they become and un-become so quickly. Two weeks ago Cazenovia was home. Now, my old house is my home again. And I’m already thinking of what it will be like if this apartment becomes my home. What it will be like to drive to work from there, to drive home after work, to meet Eli in Caz or in Manlius for ice cream.
I know that the situation I just left wasn’t perfect in a lot of ways. But I miss the ease of not worrying when I’d see him next. I know I’ve just traded one long commute and unease for another. Nothing is solved or fixed, necessarily, just shifted. That’s what I’m realizing. Things don’t ever really change. They shift. They get shuffled around time after time, until suddenly you have an entirely new hand of cards.
Thinking back on the two moves I’ve experienced in six months, I’ve thought about how different, and at the same time how similar they were. Both times, I was almost entirely sure I wasn’t capable of it. That I’d fall, falter, quit, fail. I was convinced each was the hardest, most insurmountable thing I’d ever do. But here’s the thing about the hardest things. (Without romanticizing pain or discomfort) They show you what the f*ck you are made of. I know I’m strong, because I make hard decisions, I face those choices, I face my shit and I continue to look myself in the eye and ask myself how I could be better, and acknowledge when I am. I uproot myself when I need to; I bring those dirty roots to the surface and I examine them, to get a closer look at what I’m made of. And if it isn’t right, I dig it out, bring it to light, and I do what I need to do to fix those open wounds.
"Excavate (verb): to remove earth carefully and systematically from (an area) in order to find buried remains."
I feel like I am the excavator of my own life right now. I am trying to heal the Earth I was grown from, and heal the path I am walking on from here. I am digging through my feelings, sorting through them and all the intricacies that make them up. I'm attempting to pick out the heavy ones that weigh me down, the ones that aren't my problems, and throw them in a pile far away from me. I'm sitting in this excavated Earth, filling my heart with the tiny granules of dirt and earth and rocks that I have to be grateful for, and make a home within myself.