saying goodbye

For as long as I can remember, I've had the uncanny ability to imbue heavy significance to the most mundane things. I distinctly remember a shiny, purple plastic lobster necklace from Red Lobster that looked like it came straight from Mardi Gras hanging on my dresser for years. It had its place of honor because it represented and was received when we all went out to dinner for the first time after my dad was in a rather severe car accident. I commemorated that occasion, that feeling, my dad's continued improvement and health, by hanging onto that absurd plastic lobster.

Twenty years and many interventions later, I think I've gotten a little bit better at learning to let the things go while still keeping the memory and the meaning intact. But I still am as sappy as sap itself, and often find things sticking to my skin as I go through life. Thus, I find it rather painful to remove them and say goodbye.

When we moved to Virginia for law school, both Dusty and I made an early-on decision to treasure our time there. Sure, we knew it was temporary - but we weren't going to live that way. We were going to live with permanence. Plant our feet and produce the golden sap of loving investment and significant time. At one point, I remember a friend saying "you guys make everything fun." At the time it was a half joke, because whatever it was they were talking about was something really silly (akin to a plastic lobster) that we were holding close to our hearts. But I have thought about that comment often. If nothing else, our time in Virginia taught me that I really do want that to be true. I want to enjoy life. All aspects of it.

There was a lot of uncertainty when we moved to Virginia. Our past selves never could've imagined that our time there would be so momentous to us - that someday we'd even be moved to reflect those years in the name of our daughter, Virginia Leigh. We can easily look back now and see all of the goodness. We were so intentional with our time and our friendships. Life is messy and inconsistent, but our future selves have a much keener sense of what ends up being meaningful to us in each season of life. Even the hard parts. With the benefit of perspective and the cleansing of time, we're able to look back and see what was special, what was worth it, what was beautiful.

I endeavor to live my life as if my future self has written me a letter about today. She wrote me a letter 3 years ago when we bought this intimidating fixer upper and said,

"Don't worry. You will fix this place up. You will bring your first child home here, and drink 78 gingerbread lattes in the first few months of his life. Gingerbread will always remind you of William. 

You will love the color of your walls. You will fill those walls with music. You will open the doors countless times to people you love, and celebrate daily, big and small. You will bring your second child home here, the October baby your heart longed for, and she will be beautiful, and you will cry many tears of gratitude. Don't worry, because however fast the years may go by, you will be safe here and this place will be your home."

My sappy self is currently stuck to my favorite spot on this couch, crying over the many sunrises I have spent with my sleepless babies in this living room. Crying over the blanket draped over the piano in the next room, which has been Will's cave for the last few months, and which will be impossible for me to tear down. We'll have to tell the potential buyers that the cave comes with the property.

Thank goodness I've already learned those lessons about treasuring people and not stuff, right? Ha! 

The truth is, we had no idea how significant this house would be to us. We became parents here. We could have never imagined the joy of that transition, the all-encompassing love that our hearts now carry. But we have cherished our time in this house, and we tried to do so from the very beginning. Even the hardest of the hard work, the most tiring of the tired days. Every moment. The best part of all of this is that we get to bring the crazy kids with us. Home is now the 4 of us - wherever we go. And while it is painful to leave, it's also joyous to know that we truly lived here. Lived with permanence, the only way that time-driven beings can, while still being unable to escape the ticking clock. I think I'm kind of in this sweet middle spot of being way more sentimental than your average Josephine, but not sentimental enough to be paralyzed by change. I know that change is inevitable and it also brings the most incredible growth. I've written about moving before, and how wonderful and awful it is. Change is what wild dreams require.

I already have that metaphoric letter from my future self in my pocket, but I won't open it quite yet. I have to say goodbye first. And then, and only then, will I be able to open it - to face the future with confidence and joy. But I have a feeling we'll be back to making everything fun in no time.

why moving is the worst (but has made me a better human)

Dress: Ruche, Bangles: Kate Spade, Nails: Jamberry

I was born and raised in a small desert town in Arizona.
The kind of town with occasional tumbleweeds and excessive winter visitors. A big sky and a small population. Bright stars and dull shopping.

Despite of or maybe because of its flaws, I loved growing up there. I was a desert girl through and through. I had seen snakes and been stung by a scorpion, the desert was in my blood.
I lived in the same house for 18 years with my parents and my 3 brothers. I had my own room. I was a packrat, and I was proud. Sentimental to a fault, as they say.

After I graduated high school I broke the mold and went all the way to California for college.
Obviously you geography lovers (I do not count myself among that breed) will know that California is right next door to Arizona, but for me it was a lifetime away from home. I still considered Arizona my true home, of course, and returned there every summer, every holiday, and every 3-day weekend. I felt like I "moved" often, dorm to home to apartment to home.

But it wasn't until I turned 22, got married, and moved across the country to Virginia that I truly understood the concept of moving. It was awful. Absolutely terrible! I won't lie to you. Moving is the worst. It also can be the best thing in the world, but I didn't realize that until maybe yesterday.

When people say "nobody likes change" they're not lying. And there's a really good reason for that. People don't like change because they're terrible at it. It literally hurts sometimes. I think we were created to find comfort in things, whether it be people or places or things. We were created to love and have fellowship and be. Big changes throw us for a loop because we're really good at being invested in our lives. It's a flaw of being a selfish being, probably, this inability to easily accept the big shake-ups of life.
I'm probably speaking only to myself right now, but bear with me because I think I just need to talk this out.

I hate moving because it's hard. I hate it because it's exhausting, it's sad, it's frustrating. It costs money and time. It's lonely and overwhelming. It rips you away from things you love and leaves you vulnerable to disappointment and regret.

I love moving because it's hard. I love it because it demands hard work, loyalty, and togetherness. It opens new possibilities and inspires innovation. It rids you of clutter and excess (it lightens a packratty heart) and rouses reflection. It brings you closer to a future unknown, opening up your world to new ideas, new people, and new loves. It shakes you up and makes you look again, look closer, remember better, try harder.

Here is what I learned from that one time we lived in Virginia for 3 years.

I learned that there are kindred spirits everywhere. There are probably millions of people that I could and would be best friends with if I ever had the blessed opportunity to meet them. It makes me want to revive the age of pen pals. It's an absolute thrill to think about all of the strange destinies that led us to Lynchburg, to some of the best friends we will ever have in our lives.

I learned that you get what you give. Do you know how many unhappy couples and families we met while we were in law school? Far too many. It was our choice to love our city, and commit even further to each other by investing time and energy into our home, our marriage, and our friends (and our cats). We made so many incredible memories. Ignore the tears falling down my cheeks right now that you can't even see - I miss law school, that's how much fun it was. I wish it could have been longer. 

I learned that I actually could live somewhere else. My bubble is a little bit bigger now. I thought I would die being away from Arizona, but shockingly enough, I lived. We made a home somewhere new. One that will live in my heart forever. 

I learned how to be a better friend, daughter, wife. I was allowed to experience true love and loyalty from our long-distance loved ones. 

I learned that Fall is breathtaking, snow days are exhilarating, learning is never-ending, good friends are edifying, and first homes are lasting. 

And moving is the worst. 

here i am

I absolutely love life.
What a mysterious, nebulous, spectacular thing it is. It can be baffling and surprising.
I love the way I constantly try to imagine the future and make goals and create ideas, only to be proven wrong in ways I never thought possible. Is that just me?
It's a wonderful kind of graphic novel that only I can see. My eyes alone are living this particular experience, and for that I am in a constant state of awe and gratitude. Life is unique and strange.

All that to say...I truly never thought that at 25, I would be married and living in my parents basement.

There, I said it. We successfully moved from Virginia in the middle of May, leaving behind our home of three years and many fantastical people, places and memories. There were many tears involved. We're living the cliche, the poor broke married post-grads that are desperate for housing and love and money. 
I can't possibly say that it's terrible, though, because in so many ways we're living the dream. There's a lot of ice cream in our basement freezer. We're living in Arizona, finally, again, for good. The desert has welcomed us home in its typical summer way: scorching, sunsetting, wind-blowing, monsooning, stunning.
We get to see our families again. I get to see my parents all the time! We watched SYTYCD together and get to hug and talk and just be. We're being taken care of. We're watching our nieces and nephew grow up in-person. I get to drink my dad's coffee every morning. I am finally able to get my hands on the basement, the crazy boy-dorm that has been destined for messiness and boyish grime for the last 20+ years. We've scrubbed and painted and settled and decorated. It's cozy.
I have a job, too, as of yesterday. I am officially a Technology Media Communications Specialist, and I'm going to let you guess and figure out exactly what that means.

The last few months of our lives have been hectic and hard and sad and triumphant all at once, and I'm here to say hello, I'm back. I never truly left, I've just been living my life away from this screen. It feels good to be moving forward. The beauteousness (I love making up words) of life is always there, even if it's hard to see.

For us, though, it's not hard to see, because Arizona is the greatest place in the world to call home.

Welcome home, us.