I’m starting to wonder if I might be half human, half Jack Frost, and have powers that only come alive in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Consider the evidence:
Exhibit A: When I came down for a week of training last month I arrived in the middle of a pretty substantial snow storm. Roads were closing left and right as I drove into town and tried to find a way to get to my destination.
Exhibit B: I left a night early after said training because another whopper was supposed to hit over the weekend.
Exhibit C: This week, on my second day in the office, we closed early due to a major snowstorm. Now, granted, this is a slightly different variety of “major snowstorm” than those of us in the northeast know and love. I watched the news on Tuesday night
while waiting for Biggest Loser to start and it was a special all about the storm (or the WINTER STORM, as the graphic announced) and watched in confusion as a reporter dramatically pointed to a ruler in a pile of snow…that was 4 inches high. Seriously.
Exhibit D: There are flurries coming down right now as I’m writing this, plus we had snow overnight.
I rest my case.
In other news, I moved! For those of you keeping track at home, this is the 9th time I’ve “moved” in 5 years. For real. Let’s take a trip down memory lane:
- I lived on beloved, squirrel-infested Orchard Street after college graduation.
- I moved home for the summer pre-roadtrip.
- I lived in a minivan for 10 weeks while driving around the country.
- I moved back home again for 3 months.
- I moved into an RD apartment to work as the interim RD for the spring semester.
- I moved into BA’s basement for a good chunk of the summer.
- I moved into my beloved, bat-infested Dartmouth Street apartment in the city.
- I moved home “temporarily.”
- Here I sit in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania: Love Potion No. 9.
(I’m not really sure why the post office is having financial trouble. I’m clearly doing all I can to keep them in business just in change-of-address transactions alone.)
After all of that self-inflicted movement, you’d think it would be a relief to settle down. However, I have cultivated a very well-oiled “not for long” mentality. I’m awesome at living anywhere, for any length of time, and being ok with it. I’m also pretty good at living on a wing and a prayer with no plan and no safety net.
Which is to say that I’m allergic to commitment, more or less.
But now I’m sitting on the floor of this apartment…and it’s so beautiful I can’t believe I actually live here. I sincerely love every square inch of it. There are no squirrels. There are no bats. I’m not living in someone else’s space temporarily. I actually live here. And I have a sense of security: I have a full-time job that I enjoy and I get a paycheck for working there. I received plastic cards in the mail that mean I can go to the doctor or the dentist whenever I feel so led. I recently selected retirement fund options.
I feel so conventional!
And to be honest, that makes me panic. Like, PANIC. I’ve spent most of my conscious life running from convention like it was the plague. Because to me, it was the plague. It told me I had to do things a certain way to have a successful, meaningful, functional life, and I took great pleasure in proving that wrong. I love few things more than finding a work-around for the way things “have” to be done, and my life to this point has been a case study in that experiment.
But this part – the staying-in-one-place-and-being-normal part – is more of a learning curve. An Everest-shaped learning curve. Which is why I keep opening up blog posts and staring at them blankly. I don’t know what to say!
So I guess I’ll just start here. I can’t articulate how overwhelmingly blessed I feel by God’s goodness to me in this season. And I also can’t articulate how overwhelmingly out of my element I feel in this season.
I think I might be getting ambushed by grace.