Finding my way home: Part 3
Becoming and Un-Becoming
This is Part 3 of a series. Click to read Part One and Part Two.
When moving to a new place, the anchors from the old place don’t come with you. You have to find new places and people to try to moor yourself. The places you used to shop don’t exist here, or if they do, the brand names and sizes are different, the hours they are open are different, and possibly farther away. There is no quick dash out to replace your hand cream, as you don’t know where to find it.
There is no pharmacy or grocery store to stop by without a thought, no familiar park or even a cafe where you have a favourite comfy chair by the window. There are no friends who can come by when you need some company, and you don’t know where the gift shops or bookstores are when you want to indulge in treating yourself or others.
Moving and trying to set up a new home has SO many permutations. Besides just actually figuring out the space, there are all those little things you need or want that in my case were often solved by a trip to Target. Ah, but there is no Target! That’s why I was always getting lost in the city because I was trying to find the shops that might cover some of the same ground, or the native version that will probably be better suited, but where to find those things?
Sometimes this is a fun process: I found places like The Futon Company that sounds kind of like that hippie Berkeley store I went to way back when, but this place sells all kinds of clever home furnishings designed for smaller spaces. In Plymouth we found a cafe/art gallery that specialises in custom framing. And discovered one of the large grocery stores has an outlet for a nice furniture shop that doesn't have it’s own storefront outside of London.
I bemoaned many things English but adored others. I pined for the special sauces that I could get at Trader Joe’s, or proper corn tortilla chips, or even multi-vitamins in large-sized bottles. But I also love Sunday roast lunches at a pub after a long morning walk along the coast path, or an afternoon ramble around a nearby stately home and vast gardens, followed by tea and a cake. I was pretty schizophrenic for awhile: getting frustrated and enamoured in turns.
Becoming
To begin with I was a student again after many decades, and my classmates were close to my daughter’s age. I learned how to find my reading and research sources online instead of at the Library, and how to study again, which is a tiny bit challenging when your brain isn’t quite as practised at cramming and memorising as it is when you are 20. On the other hand, having actually worked doing the kind of subject we were studying, I knew what was important and what was not, so I could prioritise what I needed to learn.
And it felt SO indulgent, to spend all my time learning and reading and thinking. Imagine! My classmates were from around the world: Latvia, China, Spain, Germany, Barbados and the UK of course, so I got to absorb how ‘the kids’ were learning and what their 20-something culture was focused on. They were delightfully accepting of me into their group activities, although most times I declined their invitations to go clubbing and pub-hopping.
Going into an academic world however, meant that I was also learning new vocabulary, or rather, different meanings for words I otherwise recognised. For instance, our lecturers mentioned that we would need to revise each week. Revise what I wondered? Well, apparently to revise here means to study. Not, as in American meaning, to edit and change an already written piece. Hmmm. What else was I misunderstanding? Quite a bit, I learned over time.
Un-becoming
The hardest part by far though was trying to create a new constellation of family. For years my life had revolved around my two kids: it was the three of us and that was how everything flowed. I had my full-time work, which I enjoyed along with lovely colleagues and friends there. But first and foremost, I had my life with my kids and their activities which thankfully often included my ‘village’ of friends as well. It was a pretty sweet life.
Pete came into my life when my kids were in high school and starting to fledge. They could now get themselves to their activities, which now no longer included me. It was only a matter of time before they would be mainly living away from home, and I wasn’t sure what life on my own WITHOUT the kids would be like.
So instead of being left behind, I fledged too. Now, I was not only living thousands of miles away, but I had another person in my life to prioritise.
As your family grows, you don’t love each one less because there is a set amount: your love expands easily to include everyone as they come along. Similarly, I was moving from two people to three that I loved so dearly. But I had a distinct relationship with each of them, and for awhile I couldn’t figure out who to prioritise those times when we were all together. My default was always to prioritise the kids, but I knew sometimes I should be prioritising Pete, and I struggled with how to do that.
Lucky lucky me that he embraced my kids with open arms and supported me and them in every way he could. My constellation of three was now a sparkling group of four, spread between England and Universities on the West Coast of the US. And I was a flickering star trying to keep my beam tethered and strong for everyone whilst still trying to figure out myself in this new place and role.
For the first time in a long time, I was not the only one in charge. I shared responsibility for our new life with Pete and honestly, I was not always good at sharing. I was used to making my own decisions without consulting anyone else. At the same time I was somewhat financially dependent on Pete and not earning my own money for the first time in my adult life. Not having these anchors of independence from my previous life unmoored me at least as much as moving to another country. Was I losing myself somehow?
Anyone who has started a new relationship, moved to a new city, started a new job, or gone (back) to school, for example, will go through similar disruptive journeys. Usually people do these things when they are younger. Otherwise more often than not, such ideas are met with ‘what a crazy idea! Why would you do that? Move thousands of miles away from everything you hold dear?’
But you do it because you want adventure, because you are in love, because it is time. It is time to push yourself out into the world, to go beyond what is expected of you. You know you are capable of so much more than what you are doing now, but you can’t break out of that box where you are. Or at least that’s what you think; what I thought. And this opportunity was wonderfully positive and there were so many more reasons to do it than not to.
Once before I had jumped into the unknown and had landed on my feet, shakily for awhile, but eventually I was OK. I was ALWAYS ok, but it was hard and it was just me. This time I wouldn’t be on my own.
For both of us, we didn’t know what was going to happen or how it was going to turn out, but we were going to do this together, and make the best of what was to come. And well, it is now 13 years later. ❤️
How about you? I’d love to hear from you if you want to share any of your story!
Have you ever moved a long way away, done something daring, jumped into the unknown without a safety net except yourself?
How did it go? What are you most proud of? Would you do it again?
Let me know in the comments.
As ever, thank you for reading and see you next week!
The honesty is refreshing. We redefine place as it redefines us. Congrats.
Loved loved loved this, Sabrina! You took me on a whole journey from disorientation to deep comfort of home... absolutely beautiful. And YESSSSSSS to the great British Sunday lunch!