The Waiting Place
It was sometime in November 2015 when the fall leaves started to drop their leaves, preparing for changes to come. In my heart, I felt the imprint and significance of this season. I felt the leaves falling in my life. And the coming dormancy before big and new things.
I had it in my mind to write more about California, but in winter of 2016, I stopped writing for this blog. Some friends asked me about it, and I told them it was because I was in a waiting place.
I could have written about anecdotal things or posted gorgeous pictures of my surroundings. But it would have felt empty and shallow. I had no interest in writing about the surface of things or appearances. I did not want to show only the beautiful or funny or clever. I wanted to authentically represent the ebbs and flows of life. The victories, the challenges, and beauty and the heartbreak. But I did not have words for any of it then. I was just trying to understand it. I knew changes were coming but the when and how were a mystery to me.
I realized when I wrote about my husband's cancer that in retrospect there was so much more happening spiritually, emotionally, and physically than I realized at the time. And though there is nothing wrong with speaking in the present and cherishing that moment, I had a feeling that I would want to have the proper context when I reported what I felt but could not yet see. I was afraid to give false projections of my life or leave vague hints of unknown changes, and so I waited.
Meanwhile, Clay and I continued as if we were grounding ourselves in a new life there, but I think we both felt that a homecoming to Texas may happen soon. We just did not know how. And in the interim, I broke my foot, we did some house-hunting, and I looked for remote work while I was laid up because if I did move back to Texas, I did not want to have to look for work again. I could see it coming even then, and I grew anxious.
Easter of 2016 was a particularly difficult trip back to Texas. My foot was still broken, but more than that, the distance between our last trip was heavily felt. On the night before our trip home ( notice here, I say home when I speak of California) the homesickness for Texas and family already began to sink in. It was the kind that grabs you by the throat and chokes you. The kind that makes your eyes burn and your heart ache. One look into my husband's face, and I knew he was already looking to find a way back to Texas, and soon!
Sometime in June of 2016, Clay had a job offer. I began applying to jobs, and I quickly had a job offer as well. It seemed meant to be. We struggled with the decision some because we had always said that Houston didn't feel right anymore. We wanted to be in Brenham or somewhere with land and character. That was our dream. I struggled because a move across the country is a BIG DEAL. And I questioned if our time in California was really done. But then, somehow someway, we became convinced that we needed to come back to Texas immediately. And the excitement grew, and things were happening so so fast.
We were right. We needed to be in Texas. Had we not been here, we would have missed some very precious memories with Clay's Uncle Tim. We would not have been able to see several family members through illnesses or hospital visits. We would not have been able to attend funerals and say our goodbyes. The travel would have killed us financially, and to be away during these times would have killed us emotionally and spiritually! We are so thankful for these beautiful times with our loved ones. And this overwhelming gratefulness has sustained us.
What we weren't expecting was such a rocky transition back home. On my last day at work in California, one of my coworkers encouraged me to embrace a new life and "bloom where I was planted." I thought it was strange of her to say so because these were my roots. I should assimilate quickly...At least, that's what I thought at the time...
But it turns out that Paso Robles became a piece of my heart. The Central Coast, my heartbeat. The beauty of this place completely overwhelmed me and changed me in ways I did not even realize until I left it behind. I found pieces of myself in California that I didn't know were there. I grew into strengths and unexpected roles. I developed a passion for human services and trauma informed care. I made friendships that made me a better person. Clay and I grew in our marriage, and our professions quite well there. We were a version of ourselves that we had come to be very fond of. And in moving back to Texas, I felt so far way from that "me", the "me" I wanted to know again. The "me", I wanted others to know too.
Texas was familiar and foreign to me all at once, something I had not anticipated. My heart did not feel whole. I did not feel whole. I pressed forward because it was all I could do. I pasted a smile on my face not ready to face my heartbreak over leaving Paso far away in the distance. But again, I felt that same nagging feeling as in November of 2015. I pictured the falling leaves and the dormancy of winter pressing on me still. Only this time I had not even the slightest inkling of the changes that would come. I will end where I began - a place of pending changes, a place of uncertainty, preparing for changes I felt but did not understand. A waiting place.
I had it in my mind to write more about California, but in winter of 2016, I stopped writing for this blog. Some friends asked me about it, and I told them it was because I was in a waiting place.
I could have written about anecdotal things or posted gorgeous pictures of my surroundings. But it would have felt empty and shallow. I had no interest in writing about the surface of things or appearances. I did not want to show only the beautiful or funny or clever. I wanted to authentically represent the ebbs and flows of life. The victories, the challenges, and beauty and the heartbreak. But I did not have words for any of it then. I was just trying to understand it. I knew changes were coming but the when and how were a mystery to me.
I realized when I wrote about my husband's cancer that in retrospect there was so much more happening spiritually, emotionally, and physically than I realized at the time. And though there is nothing wrong with speaking in the present and cherishing that moment, I had a feeling that I would want to have the proper context when I reported what I felt but could not yet see. I was afraid to give false projections of my life or leave vague hints of unknown changes, and so I waited.
Meanwhile, Clay and I continued as if we were grounding ourselves in a new life there, but I think we both felt that a homecoming to Texas may happen soon. We just did not know how. And in the interim, I broke my foot, we did some house-hunting, and I looked for remote work while I was laid up because if I did move back to Texas, I did not want to have to look for work again. I could see it coming even then, and I grew anxious.
Easter of 2016 was a particularly difficult trip back to Texas. My foot was still broken, but more than that, the distance between our last trip was heavily felt. On the night before our trip home ( notice here, I say home when I speak of California) the homesickness for Texas and family already began to sink in. It was the kind that grabs you by the throat and chokes you. The kind that makes your eyes burn and your heart ache. One look into my husband's face, and I knew he was already looking to find a way back to Texas, and soon!
Sometime in June of 2016, Clay had a job offer. I began applying to jobs, and I quickly had a job offer as well. It seemed meant to be. We struggled with the decision some because we had always said that Houston didn't feel right anymore. We wanted to be in Brenham or somewhere with land and character. That was our dream. I struggled because a move across the country is a BIG DEAL. And I questioned if our time in California was really done. But then, somehow someway, we became convinced that we needed to come back to Texas immediately. And the excitement grew, and things were happening so so fast.
We were right. We needed to be in Texas. Had we not been here, we would have missed some very precious memories with Clay's Uncle Tim. We would not have been able to see several family members through illnesses or hospital visits. We would not have been able to attend funerals and say our goodbyes. The travel would have killed us financially, and to be away during these times would have killed us emotionally and spiritually! We are so thankful for these beautiful times with our loved ones. And this overwhelming gratefulness has sustained us.
What we weren't expecting was such a rocky transition back home. On my last day at work in California, one of my coworkers encouraged me to embrace a new life and "bloom where I was planted." I thought it was strange of her to say so because these were my roots. I should assimilate quickly...At least, that's what I thought at the time...
But it turns out that Paso Robles became a piece of my heart. The Central Coast, my heartbeat. The beauty of this place completely overwhelmed me and changed me in ways I did not even realize until I left it behind. I found pieces of myself in California that I didn't know were there. I grew into strengths and unexpected roles. I developed a passion for human services and trauma informed care. I made friendships that made me a better person. Clay and I grew in our marriage, and our professions quite well there. We were a version of ourselves that we had come to be very fond of. And in moving back to Texas, I felt so far way from that "me", the "me" I wanted to know again. The "me", I wanted others to know too.
Texas was familiar and foreign to me all at once, something I had not anticipated. My heart did not feel whole. I did not feel whole. I pressed forward because it was all I could do. I pasted a smile on my face not ready to face my heartbreak over leaving Paso far away in the distance. But again, I felt that same nagging feeling as in November of 2015. I pictured the falling leaves and the dormancy of winter pressing on me still. Only this time I had not even the slightest inkling of the changes that would come. I will end where I began - a place of pending changes, a place of uncertainty, preparing for changes I felt but did not understand. A waiting place.
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