Just Keep Swimming

We are in California.
We moved here two days ago.
We live here now -- though at a hotel, in a rental car, and out of suitcases.

Everyone is handling this differently: one child has had a fever for four nights and is whining and understands nothing, really, about this change, though she may be the most anxious about our rootlessness and the speed of our move.

Another feels all the feelings, writing letters peppered with phrases like, "I feel uneasy about the move, "I miss you So much -- I can't live like this!" (where did she learn that?), and "I feel like a crumpled piece of paper," - ! - while simultaneously building forts with friends and riding a hover board down the street, beaming with the fun of it.  This one wants lots of reassuring touch; they all do.

The 3rd child is on the uber-happy, uber-social track, dying to race around and be with everyone at once.  He is hard to keep up with  -- both the pep and intensity.  Though there's lots of sadness in him, he won't touch it yet, though he, too, wants to be hugged constantly.  (yes -- we all do).

This will be and be and be an adjustment.  Ben starts his new job today and is holding stress in his body, too, sleeping it off now -- the tension of end-of-quarter-two-job-overlap and the launch of all the exciting newness and responsibility tomorrow.  He, too, is strung in the in between of crumpled suitcased-work clothes and no car to drive here yet.

We will all do.  We are all doing.

I've been trying not to articulate how I feel in my head for fear of a negative phrase sticking on repeat (I'm good at that).  And as Ben and I keep talking about, there is no summary or phrase to do justice to our sudden shift.  For now it all still seems surreal.  Though I'm usually a processor, it's not time for me to dwell on the feelings or even unfold them yet; "just keep swimming, just keep swimming." I usually laugh at Dory for this, but realize she's right; it's what I need to do, keep swimming where I am, feel the water, the burn of muscle, keep pushing through the waves.

The sermon today said cynicism weakens us and breeds bitterness -- a good word for me right now; in moments of feeling sorry for myself (or in crisis), it's easy to take little delicious lollipop licks of that negativity.   Instead choose gratitude, constantly and pro-actively.  God knows all about this -- keep looking.

And instead of isolation -- no one understands this, sigh -- choose relationships.

Go, keep showing up.



(and therein ends tonight's pep talk to myself)