The kids are back in school and I'm sitting here staring at a blank screen on my laptop. After a nice break and the distraction of the holidays, I'm reminded of how I felt in September. The frantic rush to move here was over. We survived our epic road trip across Canada and two weeks of high rise hotel living in downtown Toronto. We found a house and our stuff had arrived. All I had to do was get the kids up and off to school and unpack boxes. I did manage to get the kids to school, sometimes even on time, sometimes even without yelling, but then I just came back to an empty house filled with boxes and cried.
Silly me thought taking a few months off to figure out what I wanted to do next would be easy. I'll reinvent myself! It'll be fun! I thought. I did it in Savannah and Los Angeles and Seattle... I can do it again. It's what I do! But when I got here, that excitement dissolved into dread. Something was different this time.
It felt like my heart was broken. That's the only way I can describe it. It's been years since I felt a broken heart and before, there was always a person or death that caused it. In this case no one dumped me; no one died. My joy just up and abandoned me...because I had just up and abandoned my joy. Who knew that leaving a job and house and community I loved would have such strong effect on my emotional well-being? I should have known.
Here I am on the couch again, still wondering, now what?
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