I’ve been slow to write in the last months as these months have been emotionally formative and that generally leaves me with nothing to pour out here. But, today, sitting in a crowded and loud LAX terminal, I had the desire to write. A wise, dear person recently told me not to write because I had the drive to do so, or the need to do so but because I have the desire to do so.
Right now, I’m 34,100 feet in the air over the deserts of the southwest US. I’m flying home from my company’s big user conference (to be clear… “my” company is the company that I work for, not a company I own :)) in Anaheim. This trip was my third to southern California. I love southern California.
The week was full of presentations, working sessions, meetings, catching up with colleagues I haven’t seen in months, yummy food, and a trip to Huntington Beach. I love these weeks. The atmosphere of bringing 8,500 users from our client base together to share experiences, knowledge, and beautiful spring days is almost electric. The weather was perfect – warm, slightly breezy, and clear.
Work is changing for me. Remember my new job from a few months ago? I haven’t really started it yet because the transition period from my old position to my new position has taken awhile. However, when this plane touches down in Atlanta later today, I will complete the last trip I have booked. For the past three years, I’ve not had a “last trip currently booked”… I’ve landed at the airport, driven home for two, three, ten, maybe twelve nights, and then headed back to the airport for the next trip.
I’ve loved these days.
I’ve also loathed these days.
And they are now concluding. Yes, I’ll continue traveling, and may even have periods of heavy travel again, but my new position doesn’t require travel like my old position did. Instead of nights in a hotel, I’ll have nights in my own bed, in my own home, with my husband. I’ll have mornings of coffee on the back deck before work, and evenings of cooking dinner in my kitchen. Weekends will become just that – weekends – instead of feeling like a long layover at my house.
I’m a little antsy about this change. Traveling exposes me to people, places, ideas, views, experiences. I love these things, and I hope I’ve appreciated these things as I’ve traveled in these last few years. Home seems more obscure. Four walls with various rooms tucked inside and a computer serving as my portal into the world. My personal world will change from airports, flights, taxis, hotels, restaurants, schools, clients face-to-face, noise and into a quiet room, an open window, a five-second commute, conference calls on the front porch, seeing no one but Justin for days on end, small town life. From feeling as though the entire world is at the other end of a jet bridge to feeling as though my entire world is within four walls on a quiet country road in the mountains of Northeast Georgia.
It’s a good change, a welcomed change, and a needed change. I need time with Justin. I need time in my kitchen, in my laundry room, and on my back porch. I need time to revel in the quiet and to heal in the solitude. I also need time to build a new life in a new town.
I dearly miss our old home. I miss our house, with it’s gorgeous hardwood floors and enormous back deck, and I miss the rhythm of our life. How we planted a garden each spring, cleaned out our flower beds, listened to Braves games on the radio on the back deck, walked miles and miles around our favorite campus, ate brunch at the Local Yolkal, ran into friends at Kroger, sunned ourselves on hot islands on the lake… it was home.
I know we’ll establish a new rhythm of life in our new place. And I know – or deeply hope – this new town will become as beloved as our old home. These are days that need space to explore those new rhythms, calm and quiet to simply live life.
A month and a half ago or so, I started the unofficial infertility series in this quiet space on the Web. I’ve carried the thoughts penned in those posts with me for days, months, years, and it’s been so good to share them. Difficult, yes, but so very good. I’m learning these things don’t have to be carried alone. For a long time, I couldn’t even let Justin into the hurt places in my heart. Once I did, the burden was suddenly lighter – he knew, he understood, and he simply loved me no matter what. I opened up to close family members next, and found the same thing. They were so kind, so caring, and simply loved me. After sharing my thoughts the first few times, I knew I had to get the thoughts out of my head and into words on pages… so the unofficial infertility series began. Right now, I’ve shared the thoughts I’m ready to share. There are more, always, but it’s not yet time to share those.
The days in these months of quiet on the blog have been messy. I hope the messiest are past, but there’s really no telling. Today is a beautiful day – a great day for a flight – and tomorrow is looking bright as well. So, here’s an update from the quiet. I’m so glad you’re [still] here. I’ll leave you with a picture from our new town.
Misty mountain vineyard (Cavendar Creek Vineyard, Dahlonega, GA)