Monday, July 18, 2011

just like that.

Tonight, they invited me out to the backyard to sit and rest. Chardonnay filled the glass, and I peeled my productivity away from the computer, forcing myself to stop. If only for a brief 30 minutes.


Earlier, we sat lakeside. She watched seagulls while I watched the water. I think it's starting to sink in. Life is not what I thought it would be ...
6 months ago.
12 months ago.
2 years ago.
7 years ago.

Over the past few days, I've found myself wandering park paths as conversations slip silently in and out of our breaths. Madeleine skips ahead, jumps ahead, sprints ahead and begs to climb trees. This group, we are new. This is new. I feel a slight panic to push away the new, but I don't. I panic inside, but slow my pace outside. It's ok for things to be new. Just out of the packaging. Fragile.

I laid on the plaid blanket staring at the sky while a guitar and mandolin sang, voices hummed, and I was at ease. I try to tell them that I'm not "indecisive" but rather I'm "laid back", which is partially true. Because maybe right then I was indecisive. I'm not so sure I want to lean back up, I wanted to say. Maybe I didn't want to break the steady hum of fingers against strings, everything wrapped up in notes and music.

I stood 100s back from a stage, watching the familiar sight of a crowd rock, bounce and sway with music that probably no one knows. Wasn't it just four months ago I stood in another city I love, listening to songs I barely knew, swaying my way along music that told stories? Isn't it just fitting, that one of my first nights in my new city, I am looking in on the same? That familiar nudge in the crowd. A hot coffee in hand. A movie while stretching my legs and bending toes into cushions, blankets and dark. Familiar things that are everywhere I turn. Church, where we meet and greet, but not just to meet and greet, but to say hi, remember names, grin with stories and children running wild. Lunch where Madeleine unravels and I blush while they laugh. She is the entertainment, one says, and I hope that no one is begging to leave. I plead with her to "find a grip", and she grins.

I'm not one to rush it, but it's there just the same. We are breaking in the new, and I'm feeling less like a stranger among friends. No in fact, it all feels... familiar.

Tonight, we watch a fox. He runs along the treeline and jumps in and out of the woods. Not unlike our conversation,

They have asked me some good questions, and we've skimmed across familiar stories. I rub my tattoo when I'm nervous, like it's some good luck charm, when really I think I'm subconsciously acknowledging everything behind this bird on my arm. The mark from when I let go. The flight in the dark that I was terrified to take. The hope I had then, that somewhere there is dry ground.

Today, I submitted an application for a new home here. A place for us to hang pictures. A place to teach the ABCs and have late-night conversations. A place for Christmas trees and quiet, coffee mornings.

And it's happening. The new... just. like. that.


  1. beautiful, this new, dry ground. your courage and hope are incredible.

  2. nic-i'm always immensely encouraged when you stop by. thank you.

  3. Tingling nose! So well written, so insightful!

  4. adrienne - thank you momma. you're the best.

  5. Stopped by from Jenn's place,
    You wrote this so beautifully!
    Glad I came by.
    Blessings to you~

  6. kristin - thank you for stopping by and your sweet note! :)

  7. New...fresh. Can't wait to hear about this new start that is covered with familiar.

    Beautiful writing, as always...

    And I love the new blog look.

  8. Thanks Jen. It seems new is everywhere I turn these days, from home to blog :)

  9. A post the leaves me intrigued. Very good. Good luck and I hope it works out! God Bless.

  10. Dawnbright — thank you so much :)