So… my husband and I are buying a farm. And, yes, I do mean buying, like, we’re ten days into our sixty day Escrow. If, fingers crossed, everything goes as planned, we’ll relocate from a town-home in Redmond to an old farmhouse and barn on twenty-seven acres, in Tenino. We’re beyond excited, and scared to death. This specific dream wasn’t in our sights, even two years ago – but we’ve been talking a LOT lately about the next, and probably final chapter of our life together, and we’ve discovered that the makings of this dream has been brewing in big and small ways for a very, very long time.
How and why we decided to do this thing, and what we hope to build is a story for another time. Today I want to write about something which completely escaped my mind until yesterday. Relocating to a new community. And not just another suburban community – but a rural one. Now, I know the people in my soon-to-be new hometown are not aliens, but I also know that there are subtle nuanced ways in which every group has their own vibe, and to be honest I’m a little nervous about fitting in.
I remember the many times our family moved when I was growing up, and I also reflect on the several times I’ve relocated as an adult – and I can tell you it doesn’t get any easier. Between finding a new dentist, chiropractor and gym, to choosing the closest post office, grocery store, and a few decent restaurants – I’m already exhausted. But then there’s the really hard part – finding my people. As a mature woman, making friends is way more difficult, complex and time consuming than it has ever been. Hell, for me, making friends is way harder than dating ever was! As I get older my circle seems to get smaller, because I know myself so well and my time is very precious – so not everyone seems worth inviting into my life. I think about the easily shared common ground or interests in my twenties, thirties and forties – like the PTA, church, or Zumba class – and they are either no longer present, or no longer feel that relevant. Also, because I’m an empath, small talk only feels okay for about a minute, before I’m itching to be more real and vulnerable. And those amazing, deep conversations can be awkward or even off-putting when they’re shared with the wrong people.
I learned to face the fact that I’m not going to connect with everyone, when I moved to Singapore. I was newly free of obligations and out to explore the world, so I thought I’d make friends left and right. The truth is, I met a few very special people – but the majority of paths I crossed while taking classes at the community center, volunteering, or visiting The American Club turned out to be only acquaintances and FaceBook friends. And though I was there for four years, I told myself it was okay because I was never going to stay anyway – and maybe, unconsciously, that had something to do with it.
But now, I’m moving to a community where I plan to live out the rest of my thirty or forty years. I want not just to fit in, but to belong. I know it’s going to take a lot of effort; putting myself out there and getting to know folks. I’m going to have that scary uncertain moment, just like my first day in a new school, every time I introduce myself into a new space, and there is just no way around that. Some will love me right away, others will take a while to warm up to me, and still others may never find me to be there cup of tea. But, they will know my name, where I live, what I do, and most importantly – who I am. My community will eventually have to accept that I’m no longer the “new kid in town” but simply “Michelle, who lives by Millersvania”. I won’t know the precise moment when that happens, but I know I’ll feel the shift in temperature. And, Oh, how I will love the beautiful ordinary-ness of being a fixture in a my town. And, maybe, just maybe this old gal will find a few great friends I can truly call my tribe.
Bikini Soul 