Musings from a Kleenex Covered Bed

My week started out rather excellently.  I celebrated my 55th birthday, or as my brother put it, I was now "double nickels."  My sister came down from Corvallis and took me to lunch; I got phone calls from my siblings and my daughter; and of course, all the Facebook well-wishers.  I was planning a two-day trip to the coast JUST FOR ME, and the weather outside was fine. I was so excited about the idea of being near the ocean that I didn't even care if the weather held.  I was feeling really good on Monday.

Til about Tuesday.

Tuesday came with sneezes and sniffles, and Tuesday evening was spent outdoors at a small community event where I stood for over two hours without a sweater or jacket.

Wednesday, the mack truck hit.  Full on sinus and head cold situation!  I lay in bed all day, canceling hair appointments and missing yoga class and missing choir again (I've made it one out of three times this season).  I surrounded myself with Kleenex, hot tea, my diffuser and peppermint oil, Arbonne immunity boosters, a cat, and my laptop with Netflix binge watching on the horizon.

Thursday arrived, and little to no improvement.  More cancellations, extreme lethargy, and a lack of any enthusiasm for the beautiful, sunny weather outside.  My breathing was hard fought and my headache was increasing.  I remained grateful for leftovers and an abundance of tea bags.  I wasn't at all sure I'd brought my Neti Pot with me from Virginia.

I felt depressed about the isolation and loneliness, frustrated that I was missing opportunities to stretch instead of laying like a lump, and slightly concerned this would affect my trip to the coast.  I had been telling myself that even if it were stormy or so foggy I couldn't see the ocean, I would still BE there.  Regardless of my low feelings, I was getting by.

But there was a problem.  I was down to my last box of Kleenex and its backup, my last roll of toilet paper.

As I lay in my next of tangled sheets and blankets, cracker crumbs and cat hair sharing my space, every surface from the bedside table to the floor to the raft of my bed covered in crumpled, discarded tissues, I contemplated the likelihood of pulling on some yoga pants, a sweatshirt and a hat and running to the store, but the thought of getting out of bed and having to exert the energy it would take to get there was too much to bear.  Still, paper towels can be rough on the nose.  And come to think of it, I was down to my last roll of those as well!

Then the unimaginable happened.  A friend texted to see if I needed anything.  That in and of itself would not be an unusual circumstance in most people's lives.  But here, where I still felt like the new kid on the block, in an apartment building full of ghost neighbors I could hear stomping and shuffling, but never saw, it was a new and unfamiliar sensation.  Someone was offering to help me, and with such delicate items.  How did she know that I needed the toilet paper because I was going to have to use it as backup for the Kleenex when it ran out? 

I immediately took her up on her offer, asking for two boxes of Kleenex and a 4-pack of toilet paper.  I assured her that she could leave the delivery outside the door and that I would leave a $5 bill for her.

Within the hour, there was a 12-pack of toilet paper and an 8-pack of Kleenex and a $5 bill--my $5 bill--shoved back under the door.  A note was scribbled out on the back of a grocery receipt.  It said, "This is your housewarming gift."

By Friday, I was able to rise up, take a much needed shower, launder the sheets, and get to my rescheduled hair appointment.  I realized that if I took it easy over the weekend, I would most likely be fine by the time I went to the coast.  I never did actually run out of either Kleenex or toilet paper.  But the gift my friend gave me was so much more than paper.  It was caring and community.  It was friendship and sisterhood.  It was a beacon in the fog.

The Six Month Test

This month, September, 2017, marks my sixth month in Eugene.  The halfway point of my experiment.  Have I mentioned that I was giving myself a year?  A year to see if this is a good fit, a year to find happiness and prosperity and friends, a year to get used to the place, a year to learn where all the good neighborhoods are in case I buy or rent a house.

At the end of July, I took a trip back east.  I went on vacation in New England, and then made a whirlwind trip back to Virginia where I packed my days solidly with seeing friends and family.  I questioned the wisdom of this decision.  I was still barely adjusting to life on the west coast, and my lip had finally stopped trembling from  missing my tribe.  Now I was going to willingly put myself in the position of having to say goodbye to them all AGAIN.

But it was a good trip, if rushed.  I visited my old church and tried not to cry (too much) just from the familiarity of it all, not to mention the hugs from friends.  In our church back home, we sometimes have a time for "polylog," which is an opportunity for the congregation to comment on or share additional information relating to the sermon.  The sermon that day had been done by my friend's daughter, and it was entitled, "Making Good Choices."  During polylog, a woman spoke about having made the choice to move far from family and friends, and had been miserable, and desperate to come home.  But somehow, at the six-month mark, things turned around and she'd found herself glad she'd made the change.

I share this because I am about to admit something.  I have been kind of sad and bummed out since I got home from that trip.  It emphasized for me how much I missed my friends, and my return to Eugene felt lonelier than ever.  I had not yet found my tribe here, and it was beginning to wear on me.  I was exhausted from "putting myself out there," looking for both friends and business.  I missed having girlfriends to laugh with and cry with, and familiar friends and family to get hugs from.  I realized my cat was my only source of cuddling and touch.  I started to question my decision.  I started to say things like, "Well, I can always go somewhere else when this year is up," or "If I don't like it, there's no rule that says I can't go back to Virginia."

My friends, who felt sorry for me, would offer me that out frequently.  "You can come back!  We miss you!" Or "Move to Philly!  We'd love to have you here!"  But these kind-intentioned words only made me feel more miserable, as if I were failing at being here.

I even started to think maybe something was inherently wrong with me.  Maybe I can't make any friends because I'm not that likable.  Maybe my old friends like me, or put up with me, because we've just known each other so long.  What's going on?  Why haven't I connected with anyone?  Yes, I had acquaintances and people I saw regularly in my various memberships to groups.  But no one was calling me to hang out, and I was starting to get afraid of rejection when I'd instigate.

In short, I was depressed.

But I recalled what the woman in church said, and thought maybe, just maybe, if I hold on a little longer, it will start to make sense.  I'll start to feel comfortable.  I'll meet my new tribe.  I'll start thinking of Eugene as home.

Well, here it is September.  My sixth month here.  And admittedly, just this past week, things have started looking up...just a little.  I've met a few people I actually feel like are "my people," in terms of energy and conversational topics and warmth level.  I got invited to the movies, to a cookout, to carpool to an Arbonne meeting, and to go yoga paddleboarding.  I began working in earnest through both my new church and my Toastmasters club on membership duties, helping other new people feel welcome.

I don't know if Eugene is my forever home.  I don't know what the next six months have in store for me.  But I do feel a shift, a slight altering of the balance between "this sucks" and "this is cool."  I'm cautiously excited about making new friends, and I don't feel quite the same dark shadow of lack of connection to people and the community that I felt even a few weeks ago.  I found hope where I was doubting there was any to be found.  And I held on long enough to see the tide turn, if even a little.  And for that, I'm proud of myself, and grateful as well.

Dating in the Modern Era...NOT what you think, Part 2

In my last post, I talked about "dating" friends, a concept that was new to me when I arrived alone in a new state, knowing absolutely no one.  Since then, I have found that it is what I am constantly doing here with friends met on hikes, in yoga class, or neighbors two doors down.  Phew!  It's exhausting!  In fact, I have two dates today with two new friends, one to get our nails done, and one to do some hiking in the late afternoon. (Man, I hope I don't mess up my nails.)

Before I started blogging, a friend back in Virginia told me about her friend who was packing up all her stuff and relocating, every year!  She called this "dating cities."

I thought it would be an interesting exercise to see if some of the same rules of the game applied in dating cities as did with dating friends.  You may recall (if you read it) that in my last post, I talked about meeting friends at bars, meeting them doing activities we shared a passion for, and meeting online.

Well, most of that does not work AT ALL in this scenario!  I definitely did not meet the town of Eugene in a bar!  Though I will say, there are no shortage of bars in this town.  Not only is it a college town (go Ducks!), but there are a ridiculous amount of breweries and wineries in and about town, and in fact when I researched Eugene, one of the things it's known for is its craft beers.

As for doing shared activities, well, while I cannot personify Eugene and say we enjoy some of the same things, I CAN say that in my research, I learned that Eugene is also known for jogging, for its amazing hiking and biking and walking paths, and in general, outdoorsy and health-conscious stuff, including a long list of gluten free and/or vegan eating establishments.  In fact, I'm headed to one right now!  This, I did find to be a "common" value we both shared, and was one of the positive attributes that helped in my decision to come here.

And finally, the online portion.  I guess if there's anything similar between finding friends or mates, and finding a home town, the online portion would be it.  While there are no apps I'm aware of for finding your perfect match city-wise, there is the internet.  And believe me, I really researched Eugene before I picked it as a potential mate, if you will.

For those who are not familiar with the story, I didn't randomly stick a pin in a map and come up with Eugene, Oregon as my next address.  Through a confluence of events, I found myself at a crossroads and a decision point.  Deciding to move out of state to somewhere where I knew zero people was a big decision.  But not 100% random.

My sister lives in Corvallis, about an hour north of Eugene, and I had been out to visit a couple of times.  I thought it was a pretty state, at least what I'd seen of it.  And having a family member nearby gave me a starting point.  I knew, though, that I didn't want to select Corvallis.  It didn't "get me."

So, I started my research.  If you've ever online dated, you can set parameters (age range, distance away that you're willing to travel, kids vs. no kids, cats vs. dogs, etc.).  You can also list your "must haves."  Must be over 6 feet tall; must not smoke; must be into Lord of the Rings.  That kind of thing.  My "must haves" included having a Unitarian Universalist congregation, a population large enough to support my business, a lifestyle that suited me (as mentioned above), a Toastmaster's club, a Chamber of Commerce, access to gyms and yoga, and affordable housing.

I was able to then narrow it down to a few cities, and Eugene really met my criteria.  I looked into each of those aspects, and read articles that had been written on the town's amenities (which is how I came to learn about its notoriety in the brewing and jogging departments).  I started developing a plan, contacted various organizations saying I was coming to town, and began my "love connection."

I waited with anticipation for responses to my queries (similar to, I suppose, waiting to see if a guy emails you back or "winks" at you, which is how it's done in online dating).  I began to get excited about my new potential partner (home, that is), and took a leap of faith by booking my flight and making the necessary arrangements.

I've been here 3 months now.  People keep asking me if I just "love" Eugene.  People, listen.  Sometimes there's that crazy-about-you, head-over-heels feeling when you start a new relationship.  But I'm more mature now.  Love is a slow burning ember, an evolution of deep intimacy and respect.  I like Eugene a lot.  I like how I spend my time with Eugene.  I see potential in this relationship.  But 3 months isn't long enough to know if it's love or not.  I'll keep you posted.

Dating in the Modern Era...NOT What You Think, Part I

Given the title of this blog, it is tempting to describe in detail my adventures in dating.  And I will, but it won't be, perhaps, what you think it will be.

Recently, the idea of dating one's friends was introduced to me by a new friend, Cindy, who, by her own definition, I am now dating.  To clarify what this means, think of traditional dating.  And when I say "traditional," I am not referring to the method by which two people initiate contact, or by which they then spend time in courtship (for example, meeting in a grocery aisle and then planning an outing for coffee or drinks as opposed to "window shopping" online or with an app and then judging compatability based on resumes of what may or may not be accurate information).

No, by "traditional," I refer to the romantic or intimate version of dating, i.e., the goal being some form of coupling.  This is what I am NOT writing about, as tragic and/or comedic as that might have been.

For the purpose of this post, let us define dating, then, as searching for your new BFF or gal pal in much the same methods as one would in finding a partner, minus the romance and/or physical intimacy that one might yearn for or find in a, well, "partner" scenario.

It's really quite simple and logical.  When looking for friends, you actually end up employing many of the same tactics and thought processes as in "traditional" dating.  You first have to find possible candidates. And where might that happen (besides the grocery store aisle, or even the shoe aisle)?  In a bar?  Doing an activity you love?  Online?  Yes.  All three, and more!

1. In a bar.  OK, well, let's first clear up that I don't hang out in bars.  That being said, I did join a couple meetup groups when I arrived in Oregon in hopes of meeting friends to hang out with.  The first three actual meetups did occur in restaurants with bars.  And many people were drinking.  Surprisingly, I connected somewhat with a few women, "got their numbers," and have subsequently spent time with one of them in particular because there was "an attraction," if you will.  We liked the same things; we made each other laugh.  But more on "second dates" in a moment.

2.  Doing an activity you love.  Whether it's joining a hiking club, building a home through Habitat for Humanity, or going to a Toastmasters club, if you find activities you enjoy, you could well meet a soul mate and have someone to spend time with outside of the activity, based on an initial shared love of something such as hiking, building, or speaking.  And then that could eventually bloom into something more (platonically speaking).

3.  Online.  If you've never used online dating, via either a website or an app, you may not fully grasp both this highly productive and yet sorely impersonal method for finding, allegedly, your match.  The numbers are great, so statistically, you have a great chance of eventually finding at least one suitable "catch."  However, without the human, face-to-face interaction, these methods can sometimes misrepresent potential mates.

Until recently, I did not realize that with these apps, you could not only search for partners/hookups/ spouses/loves, but also...FRIENDS!  Another new friend I'm dating, Haley, shared with me that she uses Bumble, a phone app for finding dates, to also search for friends.  You can, in the settings, select "men seeking women," "women seeking men, " "women seeking women," "men seeking men," OR...BFF!

I just love this idea!  I was excited to try it!  I knew the margin for error was high, but felt it was worth casting that larger net.  I set the age parameter to 40-60 (I'm young at heart, but wiser than my years), the distance to within 25 miles (I mean, who wants to drive farther than that just to hang out?), and hit SEARCH.

I got exactly two results.

Now, for those who have never used these types of data sorting programs, that's really LOW.  It indicates a low number of subjects from which to sort.  Haley had told me she met TONS of women this way!  Of course, Haley is in her 20's (too young for me?).  Apparently, women my age don't usually use online dating apps to find their friends.

So, those are the three main avenues for searching for friendship.  There is also the less common (these days) blind date, where a friend sets you up with another friend, sure that the two of you will hit it off.  I have a blind date tomorrow, as a matter of fact, with Jamie, whom I've met once at a dinner party, but never actually spoke to.  I'm kind of nervous.  We all know how blind dates often turn out.

Once you have met, the next decision branch, if you will, is whether you want to see each other again.  Did you enjoy your time?  Did you feel comfortable?  Excited?  Did you laugh?  Or were you checking your phone and apologizing for having forgotten you had a hair appointment?  Can you see yourself spending more time with this person?  Are you ready to commit 2+ hours to seeing a movie together?  What about a half day hike or trip to a winery?  Could you stand to be stuck in a car on a road trip with this person?  Would you want them in your home?

And so, as in "traditional" dating, there is that uncertain, giddy feeling of newness and mystery, the fantasizing of harmony and closeness, and the fear of rejection once they see the "real you."

Not surprisingly, I have found the "bar" meetups and the "dating" apps to be my least favorite forms of finding potential besties, just as they leave me less than satisfied when looking for a partner.  And yet....I met Cindy at that first bar meetup.  Won't it be fun one day when someone asks, "so how did you two meet?" and we look at each other with glances that communicate everything silently, including our entire friendship history and any private jokes we've established, and simultaneously remark, "in a bar" before breaking out into girlie giggles or no-holds-barred guffaws.

After all, she COULD be the one...

Circular Thinking

I've been thinking a lot about circles lately.

I've been thinking of all the ways in which they're incorporated into our lives and the phrases that we speak regularly.

Take, for example, "going in circles."  It's either literally going in circles, as in being lost; or the feeling of going around and around in a conversation or a thought process without ever reaching a logical conclusion and always returning to the same place you just were. (Kind of like talking to a two-year-old.  Or the cable company.)

I can tell you that, quite literally, I have gone in circles since moving to Oregon.  Not that this has anything to do with location.  I am what some might call "directionally challenged."  I have no sense of direction.  I never like it when a person (or a GPS) tells me to go East.  I mean, I understand cardinal directions, and I know where the sun rises, but if it's high noon, night time, or cloudy, how can I figure out where East is?  I have gotten lost and ended up going in the wrong direction everywhere from mall parking lots to European streets.  It took me basically my entire life to learn my way around Reston, where I lived til I was about 23, and Manassas, where I spent the last 26 years of my life.  (I still don't really know my way around Oakton or Fairfax, where I lived in between those two stints, and really, Reston has changed and grown so much that I no longer recognize it and get lost there too).

Since I've moved to Oregon, I have expected to get lost, even looked forward to it as a rite of passage.  I read somewhere that to get to know a new town, you really shouldn't use your GPS.  But seriously, I couldn't even find the bike path along the Willamette River (which is literally right behind my apartment building!)  So I used the GPS for the first week or so, and then started testing myself.

I had to go to Walmart (sad, but true). I had been there several times already for necessities like a broom and a shower curtain and laundry detergent and even furniture! (The closest IKEA is two hours away in Portland).  I felt like I'd been there enough times for the route to have become ingrained in my brain.

Do you know where this is going?  Or will you need directions?

Yup, you guessed it.  I did not find it, and after getting frustrated and ending up on the freeway, I put my GPS on and it took me on a circuitous route (another circle!) that literally had me entering and re-entering the freeway over and over again, quite definitely going in circles!  Now, I will admit that it wasn't entirely the GPS' fault.  I get confused when it says, "make a slight right" and there are two choices to go right.    But you get the point.

Ask my friend Pam about me and directions.  She'll tell ya.  We went to Europe together summer before last, and the ONLY arguments we had were about how to get somewhere.  I'd be staring at a street map, pointing to a location, saying, "We're here, right?" and she'd agree we were, indeed, there.  "And we want to go HERE, right?" I'd ask, pointing to another spot on the map.  Again, she'd agree.  "So we turn right!" I'd state emphatically and triumphantly, and she'd shake her head and say, "Nope." And I'd demand that I was right.  And she even gave in a couple times to prove to me that I was not correct at all. I had to give her the map after doing that a couple times.  I had to let go and let Pam.

There was one trip in Bordeaux to a local grocery store, where we left the map at home because the store was just down the street!  How hard could it be to get back?  And yet, upon exiting, it only took us a block or so to realize we were not headed home and nothing looked familiar.  We ended up going back to the store.  Turns out it was a CIRCULAR building with many doors and exits and streets like wheel spokes at each exit, and we'd exited a different door than the one we'd come in.  But it was Pam who found the right one.  I cannot be trusted.

Then you have those circles we use when referring to friends and family.  "Doesn't she have a lovely circle of friends?"  "They really don't spend time in the same circles."  And the saccharine, "We've built a circle of love around our family."

When I arrived here in Eugene, I missed my circle of friends back home.  Or should I say circleS.  I had my teaching friends and my church friends and my Arbonne friends.  Different circles for different areas of my life.  I knew I needed to meet a new circle of friends, so I joined a church and a choir, a Toastmaster's club, a women's networking group.  The choir is fun, and we've already sung a couple ROUNDS.

What's interesting about friend/family circles is that we are often so afraid to allow them to intersect.  Like a giant Venn Diagram, we decide if our circle of friends from childhood can mix well with our circle of friends from our stay-at-home mom days.  We look for that intersection where the two circles make a skinny oval that says, "they all like wine!"

But circles seem exclusive when looked at this way.  I've decided that rather than different hoola hoops of friends and relatives that may or may not cross over, my circles expand, like ripples in a pond.  I've thrown myself into the middle of the pond of life, and my splash has made ever bigger circles that include a variety of lily pads, frogs, turtles, and algae.  And rather than keeping them separate, I just keep expanding to let more in.  I like this perspective more, don't you agree?  You can't even follow me, can you?  You're wondering if you're the frog.  And the mixed metaphors are really messing with the logic.  Well, at least it's not circular in nature (get it?  IN NATURE?).

But let me circle back around here, because in this great circle of life, which can sometimes be a 3-ring circus, we often TIRE of repeating life's lessons, which can leave you spinning in circles and retreating into a fetal position.  (Work with me here...babies are kind of round when in their mommy's tummies...okay, that's stretching it.  Oh my gosh!  Get it?  STRETCHING it, as in a momma's belly?  Okay. Wait.  Now I'm way off course.)

Someone get me my GPS!

Green Flags and Silver Linings

I've noticed that most people come at life with suspicion and an expectation of what will go wrong.  We "prepare for the worst" and "listen to our gut" to weed out any "red flags."

This propensity to go towards the negative really doesn't serve us so well...though it may well have back when we were living in caves and looking not to be eaten by wild beasts.

I myself have spent the majority of my life as a self-proclaimed pessimist, using the excuse that if I expect things to go badly, at least I can't be surprised except in the case where things go quite well, and then am surprised in a most pleasant way.  Doesn't that make sense?  In our ego-filled, avoid-pain-at-all-costs mentality, it sure does.

However, these last few years, I've been slowly moving the needle in the other direction, moving towards not only a less negative view, but actually embracing possibility and potential!  Dare I say, I've begun to expect AMAZING things to happen?  And have started appreciating the lessons learned when things don't go as planned or as hoped?

Aside from my own disbelief and failure to recognize myself these days, I am enjoying this rewiring of my brain that I've been undergoing.  It's really quite a lot more fun and gratifying, and it feels good, darn it!

So now, I've shifted from red flags to green.  Instead of looking for warnings and signs of danger, I am not only looking for but FINDING many signs of possibility and feeling gut feelings that lead me towards the good and the nurturing and the positive.

Here's an example.  I'm going to back up a little and share a sad story.  My dear Dad, Bert, passed away a year and a half ago, just four days shy of his 90th birthday.  At his memorial service, we told funny stories and shared about his life.  And one of the musical pieces we played was Louis Armstrong's "Wonderful World."  Dad really loved Armstrong, and he really loved that song.

Since then, that song has come to be a "green flag" for me, signaling Dad watching over me and guiding in me in the right direction or in some cases, pushing me towards something I am not 100% on board with.

Only days after his memorial service, my sister and I went to dinner.  Our relationship had been rocky and iffy for a while, and it was a slightly awkward meal.  As we left the restaurant and walked to our separate cars, we gave a wooden hug to one another.  I turned to walk towards my parking space, and heard a faint piece of music.  It seemed it might be coming from another person's car, but I looked around and couldn't find the source.  Could it be coming from the gas station across the street?  No, it felt closer.  And wait, I recognize that song!  It's "Wonderful World" and it's Louis singing it!  What???

As I opened my car door and started to slide inside the driver's seat, the sound seemed to follow me.  I then realized my iPod was still in my purse.  I had downloaded the song to be used at the memorial service.  Now, my iPod was off, OK?  But somehow, it had come on and to that exact song.  Sure, maybe I nudged it in my purse somehow, maybe during that stilted hug.  But of all the hundreds of songs?  I texted my sister right away (she hadn't pulled out of her space yet).  I shared what had happened, and we both agreed Dad was reaching out to us.

OK, let's first get something straight.  I do not go for "signs" and don't really believe in spirits or angels.  I'm kind of scientific and agnostic and all that.  But I had to admit, this felt like...well, a sign.  Dad wanted us to make the effort to repair our relationship, and it felt like he was applauding our effort.

So, perhaps that was all random and pure chance.  I can actually resonate with that explanation.

But then, so how do you explain that when I went to see my daughter last weekend to say goodbye, I had another sign?  My daughter and I have really had a rocky road, and since Dad passed, we have barely spoken.  That story is not a story for today, but suffice to say, our meeting was also quite awkward (for me, anyway).  We went to lunch at a Thai restaurant in downtown Richmond, and as we sat waiting for our food, side by side at a counter looking towards the street, in an almost parallel-play type of set-up, I heard the canned music.  Usually, it's Thai music right?  Or whatever ethnicity the restaurant you're dining at is.  This was covers of songs, and it sounded a lot like Rod Stewart.  And he was singing...you guessed it.  "Wonderful World."  Not once, but twice (was the music on a shuffle and looping back?  Did my daughter and I need a second smack in the head?)

So now I was thinking, boy Dad really wants me to make bridges here.  And I want that too, of course.  But the coincidence (or not) of this song appearing again (twice!) was notable.

OK, so maybe you're thinking this is sort of odd.  And if it is Dad, maybe he nudges me to fix family relations only.  But nope.

As I disembarked from my plane in Portland, wondering if I'd made a huge mistake, but mostly excited if exhausted, lugging my poor kitty in his carrier with my aching shoulder, in search of the baggage claim area and the car rental kiosk, I heard a grand piano playing.  Sure enough, the Portland Airport has a classy grand to greet you as you land.  (Hey that rhymed!).

You already know the punchline, right?  That happy, cheesy piano player was playing none other than Dad's song, and I literally KNEW Dad was saying, "go for it, kid."  He approved of my adventure and the risk I was taking, and he was letting me know he was there to watch out for me.  I looked over my shoulder (where I've envisioned him smiling at me) and whispered, "thanks Dad."

White Canvass

There is something about flying literally above the world that gives you a freedom to think outside of the boundaries of your earth-tethered life.  As I took off from Reagan National Airport, leaving DC and Northern Virginia behind to find new adventures in Oregon, I cried some mostly anxious tears (with a salting of mother-child separation), and then, attempting to hide my tears from my seat mate, looked out the window, wiping away the traces with my ninja tissue.

I saw the earth growing smaller and the city and its drama and its history and its roots diminish beneath me.  And then, as if on cue, the clouds we entered began to obscure my view of the highways and the buildings and the life I'd known for 54 years.  And as I pondered the meaning and tried to think of intelligent pithy things to think and say about it, the clouds grew denser, creating an entirely blank, vast, white canvass.  The symbolism wasn't lost on me.

This life I was headed towards was completely unknown and unwritten.  My planner/Type A self had of course arranged lodging and transportation, and I had a vague idea of initial steps to take...find a home, buy a car, get connected to people ASAP via church, Toastmasters, the local Chamber of Commerce, etc.  But other than that, I didn't really know what to expect, and I didn't have a clear vision of what my life would be.

I feel radically blessed because most people who move are going towards something--perhaps a job--or away from something--maybe a relationship.  Or at least I've imagined that's what they do. 

But I have been given the golden ticket.  I have a means of income that doesn't care where I do it from, and in fact utilizes its mobility as a positive vehicle of growth.  I can do my job in Virginia FROM Oregon, and also create new possibilities in Oregon as well.  So, it's not a job I'm going towards nor do I have to worry about finding employment.

The only significant relationships in my life are my children and my friends.  I'm not going to lie. Leaving them was HARD.  But distance doesn't end our connection in any way.  It only makes it logistically more challenging to touch.  I feel completely open to any new relationships I may encounter, be they of the friendship, business, or romantic type.  I'm not going specifically to look for a husband.  But I am open to the possibility of meeting any number of possible partners.  I'm not intent on finding a new best friend.  Yet, I'm anticipating all the new friends and acquaintances with the fervor of a new book by a favorite author.  What will the characters be like?  How will they enhance the story?  And in this case, the story is MY LIFE. 

Lots of people asked me before I left, "Are you so excited?"  I think I am only beginning to truly realize the expanse of this new chapter and the potential for growth in my heart and mind as I experience the NEW.  

Orphans of the World

Remember the movie "Sleepless in Seattle?"  Actually, I don't remember much about it except that Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks played the same characters they played in "You've Got Mail."  But the title is what I recall, and what I relate to this moment.  Except I'm not in Seattle.  I'm still in Virginia.  And I've definitely had a few sleepless nights.  My favorite one?  When I realized I'd used all my comforters and blankets to pack my belongings in the pod, and I stood in my empty room staring at my tiny twin air mattress and thought, how's this gonna work?  And then I got practical and put on layers and used my thick wool coat as a blanket.  Except it kept slipping off all night, along with the cat, who was my true source of warmth, and I really didn't sleep much.  But anyway, it's not Sleepless in Virginia that I want to talk about.  Actually, I am currently Homeless in Virginia.

Today was the day.  I closed that door (literally and figuratively) for the last time.  I signed the papers and handed over the keys.  I read the final number and wished it were being wired today instead of next week (because I've managed to rack up some bills during all this hullaballoo).  And then I drove away.  Little Bo kitty went with my son, Gray, in his truck to spend the day while I ran errands, had lunch with friends, and slipped in a chiropractic appointment (air mattresses plus packing plus bad back equals chiropractor agreeing that I am a "hot mess").

And I thought, I don't have a home.  Not here, and not in Oregon either. Oh, worry you not, I have a place to sleep.  The kindness of friends has been overwhelming...lunches and dinners and a room with a bed, and when I get to Oregon, I've got my sister and her husband to put me up when I need.  But, I don't have a home.  For the first time ever.  It is truly a different and unique feeling.  There is no where to return to.  I, however, am adaptable!  I can sleep on couches or guest beds or foam mattresses or air mattresses or futons.  It's all good!

Bo is another story.  This poor baby.  He spent all of this morning and into the afternoon wedged behind the toilet at my son's father's house.  I brought him to the friend's house where I'm staying for the next few days, and guess where he went?  Behind the toilet.  Eventually, I thought he might be cold and lonely, so I dragged him out, his claws attempting to find purchase on the tile floor, and brought him into my room, setting him gently on the bed atop that same wool coat/blanket.  I pet him and cooed at him and told him what a good boy he was for a good 10 minutes.  And then I slowly stood up (my back creaking and protesting at the awkward position I'd just been in) and he immediately dove for the pillows and burrowed into them, making a nest cave kind of thing.  And there he's been for about 4 hours now.

I'm a little concerned.  He hasn't had anything to drink all day, and he hasn't used "the facilities" either.  I did coerce him into eating his dinner (which is imperative since I crush his seizure meds into tuna twice a day to prevent said seizures).  But he's dug himself even deeper, and I wonder what I'll find in the morning.  Hopefully not a urine soaked pillow.

And sadly, poor guy, the torture will continue for at least a week.  After several days here, we go on the plane.  This, I am sure, will be traumatic...for me if not for him.  I did ask the vet for sedatives...for me.  Once the long day of travel finally ends, we'll be at my sister's, and then at an airbnb, and then, hopefully, at our new home.  So he's got a lot of pillow-burrowing to do over these next weeks.

I think that he and I represent different ends of the coping spectrum.  We are both experiencing a lot of change and uncertainty in a short amount of time.  We are both out of our element and depending on those who like/love us to make sure we're safe and cared for.  But while I've accepted that discomfort and change will be the feelings du jour for a while, he has not "leaned in" to all of this, to quote Brene Brown, and is suffering from the self-inflicted pain of resistance.  I fear his path will be a lot rockier than mine.  Then again, he doesn't have to do anything but sleep it off while I figure things out, so it may be that his tortured existence these next few weeks is still far less labor-intensive and requires far less mental energy than mine,

Let's Make a Deal!

My head is absolutely spinning. I just experienced the height of modern-day basement sale frenzy over the online posting of all my furniture on a yard sale site.

Holy Moly!

This is not your average yard sale.  And may I say, I have schlepped many a box of knick knacks and boxes from the attic out to driveways and yards and street corners over the years, and you plop your hiney down in a camp chair with a hot cuppa something, and you smile as people slowly drive by to see if you're worthy of their uninterested poking and prodding of your slightly used but unwanted stuff.  And then you get nickeled and dimed to death over pot holders and beach umbrellas and those custom window blinds  you bought that were about an inch too narrow for the window.  And then you spend hours outside, sometimes in the heat, sometimes in the cold, sometimes fruitlessly making a few bucks and then having to haul it all away to Salvation Army in the end, which you could have done in the beginning and only had to lift it all once and had the rest of your day ahead of you.

But this?  This?  It's pure insanity.  Have you tried this?  You post pictures and descriptions of your belongings on a Facebook page and within seconds, your phone is dinging and that number in the toolbar of your Facebook page is counting to 10 and 20 and 30 messages that you have to respond to, and people ask you things like, "will you take $25?" for a solid wood dresser and mirror that you asked $50 for even though it's worth $100, or "do you deliver?  I'm about an hour away"...um, NO.  Or you mainly just get lost trying to track who asked first and wondering what the etiquette is about giving first dibs to people who say they want something, and then don't respond to the answer you just gave them, and meanwhile 5 other people ask about the same item but you have to say, "um, it's not sold, but it's also not available at this moment, can I get back to you?" and then you realize what you just said and you know that there is NO WAY you can possibly remember who you said what to in what order and THEN some lady yells at you the next day because you sold the gardening cart that she said she wanted and then she went dark on you while someone else was like, "hey I'm down the street, can I come pay cash right this second?".

And I'm no slouch.  I tried this once back when I first put the house on the market and did some judicious decluttering to make the house seem more open and appealing.  I learned from my mistakes.  You definitely need to write down who you talked to and how much they offered and when they said they'd come get it.  And you learn to say phrases like, "that's a firm price" or "it's yours if you can come get it today" and "if you can haul it yourself, I'll take that price!"

So I did.  I wrote down every first acceptance and how much we agreed on and the person's name and when they said they were coming to look at it.  And I was working that mouse like crazy responding to every inquiry and saying yes it's available or no it's sold or I'll let you know if the person doesn't pick it up (cause that happens a lot too.  People say they're coming and then...don't.  And you've already taken it off the site and told people it's sold, and so you have to put it back on or reach out to those people you said were in second place in line).  And then you have to remove the picture or mark it as SOLD.  And because I posted on my personal Facebook page AND the online yard sale page, I had to do it twice with each item.

And oh Lord!  The revolving door that was my house this afternoon and evening!  People coming and going and texting me and calling me and the money that exchanged hands!  And just because it rains when it pours, I also had a client drop by and a friend bringing me soup in the middle of it all.

And now it's about 6 hours since I first posted everything, and I've sold 3 book cases, a sectional sofa, an end table, a pub table and chairs, a credenza,  my dining room table and chairs, my entire bedroom set, another bed and another dresser, three standing lamps, an extension cord (!), and a toaster.  I also gave away for free one Humpty Dumpty garden ornament, one piece of wall art created by a four-year-old preschool class in 1993, one white serving platter, and a shoe rack.

And I'm not even done.

I love that technology can help with this process and speed it up and help me accomplish my to-do list, but honestly, I'm exhausted, and I really didn't like getting yelled at over Facebook messenger when someone was more responsive sooner than someone else.  Mostly I'm grateful that I conquered this beast that, frankly, I'd been avoiding due to my anxiety over using technology in the first place, and letting complete strangers know where I live and invite them into my home.  One lady kept looking at things that weren't for sale and asking if she could have them.  Like, for example, my car.  She kept saying, "I really want a car."  Yeah, um, well, see, I'm not selling that, and I kind of want/ need it myself, see...

Let's hope I can find furniture in Oregon as fast as I was able to sell it here in Virginia!

Leaving the Nest

I always thought that the natural trajectory of one's life included going off to college and having an adventure.  As a parent of college aged kids, I thought the natural steps were that THEY would go off to college and I would be left an empty nester, either wallowing in tears and in need of a puppy, or hooting and hollering in celebration as I started planning outings with friends.

Well, I never left for college.  Introvert that I am, I stayed close to home, literally.  I commuted to college and enjoyed the quiet and privacy of my own bedroom.  No dorm parties for this girl!  I guess my parents didn't get to wallow or whoop it up.

And now, at an age where my own children are the ones to be leaving, I find it is me, instead, that is departing the nest.  An unexpected turn of events for all involved.

This sojourn to Oregon feels like what I imagine it WOULD have felt like had I gone away to college or off to a new job after graduation.  And I got to wondering, how similar, really, are the two?

So I went online and found an article describing the 8 things first year college students fear the most.  Let's see how I compare:

1. Am I smart enough?
Well, I'm assuming no one will actually make me take any tests or give me any grades as I muddle through this unknown territory of living on my own in a strange place.  But, on a certain level, I suppose I wonder if I'll "make the cut."  I mean, I've got a business to run...will I be able to keep up with whatever business acumen people in Oregon have?  As an Oregonian with no experience being an Oregonian, can I even call myself an Oregonian?  And will I be judged by my ability to pronounce "Willamette?"

2. Will my roommate be weird?
Well, that's an obvious one.  He is indeed.  My cat Bo has OCD and licks window blinds and all the fur off his belly.  THAT'S pretty weird.

3. Where's my new best friend?
I do wonder this.  My best friends are currently on the east coast and I'll be far away, though only a phone call away.  But I do think about the possibilities.  Maybe a new awesome friendship awaits me.  I certainly hope I find some gal pals to hang out with to see movies, do lunch, go for bike rides, go to the theater, practice yoga...lots of possibilities.  I'm optimistic and saying things to myself like, "What if my next new friend has a vacation home at the coast that she frequently invites me to?"  That kind of thing.

4. Will I be okay without my folks, my dog, and my car?
At my age, my "folks" aren't so much parents or even family, but my people.  My church community has become my family, and I will miss them terribly, and have relied on them for so much over the years in the way of support and guidance.  I am happy to report that I have already connected with some people at a church in Eugene, so hope to develop a support system there too.  I don't have a dog, but I do have a cat, and he is my roommate, so I don't have to live without him!  And car...yes, that's still up in the air.  I'm selling my car here in Virginia, renting a car for a week when I get to Oregon...and then?  Still don't know...biking is very popular there, and I've never tried Uber...we shall see.  Also, my company car, a white Mercedes Benz, is available at my next promotion...

5. Where's the party?
See, this one flummoxes me.  I didn't go away to college cuz I didn't want to be forced to party 24/7.  I'm not saying I never did, but it wasn't my reason for going to college.  And now, 37 years later, I find I don't drink, don't like to stay up late, and avoid large crowds.  So, unless you are defining "party" as a few friends hanging out cooking together or some happy five-year-olds popping balloons, I'm not looking for a party.  But that being said, I do hope to make friends and connections and have a social life.

6. Peer pressure for sex.
Well...unless there's some things I don't know about Oregon yet, I'm fairly certain this won't be an issue.  Now, I do hear that Portland has an annual naked bike race...but naked and sex are really two different things, and Portland's going to be about 3 hours away.

7. Where's the money?
Hopefully, in my bank account from the sale of my house here in Virginia, and quickly to be followed by an avalanche of success as my business takes off into the stratosphere!!

8. Is it safe here?
I have thought about this, being a woman on her own.  And I guess it boils down to this.  I mostly trust people are good.  I don't roam dark alleys alone at night with my head down, and just in case, I bought a pepper spray.  But joking aside, of course there's apprehension about the unknown.  But I do feel confident that my life will be good, and certainly no LESS safe than here in Manassas.

So off I head to my new adventure with the greenness and enthusiasm of a high school graduate mixed with the experience and confidence of a mature woman.  A mature woman that apparently likes hanging out with five-year-olds popping balloons.

Getting There Part I

Have you ever noticed that, even when you're planning an amazing, relaxing vacation, the logistics of actually planning it are incredibly stressful, often expensive, and super time consuming?  I mean, it's not just reservations on a plane or train or cruise ship.  It's getting passports, or shopping for the clothes you'll need (or that satin money belt from REI that you read online was the best one, and there isn't even an REI that close).  It's the planning the route, if you're driving, which means maps or GPS, or lots of online research as to the best wineries to stop at or which restaurants have Gluten Free (GF) menus.  It's planning an itinerary, particularly if you're a Type A, must know The Plan kind of person like me.

When I went to Europe the summer before last, we had SO much planning and research to do.  We were going to three countries and staying in four Airbnb's, and flying and taking trains and subways.  Then there was the packing.  I mean, pack enough clothes for 10 days, but still not pack too many clothes since we each only wanted one rolling bag and a backpack.  And then it was finding good walking shoes, and breaking them in.  And going to AAA to get money converted to euros.  And finding someone to watch the cat.  And making sure the bills still got paid.  And trying to eat everything in the fridge before you left.  I mean, it's stressful.

Now making a move is a whole other kind of stress.  And I've moved a lot in my time.  Let's see.  Okay, I'm going to count here, hold on....so I think it's seven times?  (I guess that isn't much compared to a military family, but it feels like a lot!)

But guess what? They were all in Virginia!  Sometimes in the same town in Virginia (my last four houses have all been in Manassas over a 25-year period).  So, sometimes we did it ourselves, sometimes with movers, but never far and never packing that carefully.

Now I'm going across the country!  That's a little different.  And I'm going alone, so no one on the other end to help me unload.

It was because of this that I decided not to bring any furniture.  I don't even know where I'll be living yet, so I wasn't sure what would fit or what I'd need.  Plus, it's flipping expensive to move your stuff!

Originally, my son and I were going to drive a small U-Haul out to Oregon, and tow my car behind us.  We'd take turns driving, I'd get to spend some time with him, he could help me with the cat and unloading the truck and keep my company.

But then I thought about my sciatica.  And I thought about not being able to "work" for 10 days and the cat being in his carrier for so long.  And towing a car...that sounds difficult, slow, and dangerous.

So, instead, I decided to sell the car and fly out with the cat.  I'd ship a few meager belongings to myself.  Mostly boxes full of books and art and all my Arbonne paraphernalia.

So wow.  The options.

Option 1:  Use professional movers with a truck.  Well, basically I don't have enough stuff to warrant a truck,  Plus it's expensive. Plus no end point to deliver it all to.

Option 2:  Ship boxes on a TRAIN.  Did you know you could do this?  I found some article online about the cheapest options to ship stuff, and this was it!  Sadly, though, I'd need to be able to pick it all up somehow on the other end, and I won't even have a car!

Option 3:  Use PODS (and when I say PODS, it's like saying Kleenex.  I may or may not be referring to the brand PODS, but just the type of transport, because it stands for Portable On Demand Storage--and the editor in me kind of flinched there, because I happen to think on-demand should be hyphenated here.  But I digress).

Anywhoooo...PODS seemed like the best method.  Why?  Well, because I can have a fairly small one delivered to me, load it myself, have it driven across country, where it will be stored until I've found a home and can have it delivered, whereby I can then unload it.

There are a lot of PODS companies out there!  And they all would sure love you to commit already to scheduling with them.  You try to get a "free quote" and end up on the phone with a customer rep who really wants you to PICK A DATE now.  They promise you can back out, but isn't that kind of like signing up for a month of free Netflix?  They kind of figure you'll forget to cancel the subscription (which I have!) and then you keep getting charged.  Except this isn't $9.99.  It's like $3,000.  YUP.  $3,000.  Or thereabouts.  It depends on whether you want a container made of plywood or metal, and whether you want it to be water proof or not, or stored in a climate controlled space or out in a parking lot  when it arrives.  That kind of thing.

I finally settled on U-Pack, which promises the best construction, IMHO, of their pod, and while costly, seems to meet all my requirements.

And so now, it's a question of scheduling.  I realized that, I need to be out of the house by closing... that's when the new people get the keys!  And that means I need to schedule pick-up before that day, and pay the PODS people BEFORE closing on my house, which means that nice little sum I'm making from the sale of my home will not be available to pay them until AFTER I go to closing.  Okay, slight fly in the ointment, since I don't happen to have an extra $3,000 to cough up just now, as I was busy spending all my free cash on fixing up my house so I could sell it!  Sigh.

So, as a compromise, I am waiting til after the home inspector comes tomorrow on the off chance that they'll find something terribly wrong and unsafe that I'll have to fix (with that non-existent cash of mine) before we can go to closing.  But, staying positive...all will be well...breathe.  After the home inspection, I can call and reserve the PODS (I don't want to keep spelling that with the "S"...I'm only getting one container, one POD...but that only stands for "portable on demand").

Crossing my fingers and toes that the inspection goes well, and slowly mobilizing myself to pack a few boxes.

I will slow down the blog posts to once a week after I get myself out of town, but there is so much to consider, to decide, to negotiate, and to address in the next few weeks.  And lest you think this will turn into a never-ending rant, have no fear.  My plan is to chronicle meaningful events and exciting adventures, not just mishaps and frustrations.  It's just that at this moment, my life is ruled by chaos and mess.  :)

Moving (Literally) into My Discomfort Zone

Hey there!  Welcome to my first-ever blog!  The sole/soul purpose here is to keep my friends and family informed, keep myself sane, and reach out to others who can relate by tracking my progress as I head off into a Big Life Adventure.

My life can be summed up here:  I've never lived anywhere but Virginia.

So there you have it.  I grew up in Virginia, went to school in Virginia, had all my jobs in Virginia, got married and raised kids in Virginia, got divorced and raised kids in Virginia, and established pretty deep roots in Virginia.

And I like it here!  I do!  I love the autumn with its stunning colors!  I love the proximity to beaches and mountains and the city!  I love my friends and my church and my house and my neighborhood.  There is absolutely nothing wrong here.  I've been gainfully employed since college, met plenty of partners (potential and not), and had so many opportunities to see stuff and do stuff, with friends, with my kids, on a date, and by myself.  There's no shortage of things to love.

But...I've never BEEN anywhere else.  Oh sure, vacations in New England, Florida, Outer Banks.  Travel for work and for pleasure to the West Coast, Europe, Niagara Falls.  I mean, I've left the state.  But never LIVED anywhere else.  Not even during college.  I lived at home and commuted to George Mason University, which was kind of the trend back in the 80's.

And I've never lived ALONE.  I went straight from my parents' home to a house full of roommates to living with a boyfriend who became a husband to living with my kids.

And now, at age 54, I take a look around me and this is what I see:  No more parents (both have passed away); no more kids (both have grown into adults and moved out); no more partner (divorced over a decade ago, and no current relationship).  It is literally me and the cat.

And it's not that I don't think I can be single here in Virginia.  And there's no reason I should feel I need to "escape" where I am now.

But seriously.  I've NEVER lived anywhere else, never been on my own.  It's time.  In fact, it's past time.  And I don't want to wait another minute!  I'm still healthy and relatively young.  I have an amazing business that can move wherever I want to go, and there is no one for me to take care of or support (except my adorable kitty, Bo).

I kind of woke up one morning and realized, I was FREE.  Oh don't get all judgy.  I don't mean like parenthood or marriage was some kind of prison.  Or that caring for my aging parents was a horrible burden.  But I can't remember a time when I wasn't responsible (or at least felt I was) in some way for some other person.  And recognizing that I'm not anymore, and seeing this opportunity to go on an adventure, well...it feels right.  And on a good day, it feels super exciting and full to bursting with opportunity and as-yet-undiscovered treasure.

Of course, on a not so great day, like yesterday, I am terrified, overwhelmed, completely unsure, confused, and doubtful.  But it usually passes.

And let's hope so, because I just sold my house and have told everyone I'm leaving!  It'd be kind of weird if I, like,...didn't.

And so, I've decided a blog is a great way to let people know how I'm doing, but also, on a bigger scale, reach out to maybe people I don't know yet, or people I do know, but who haven't discovered their own inner adventurer yet, and give them a glimpse into stepping right out of that there comfort zone, like ON PURPOSE, and sharing the ups and downs, the trials and wins!

And I'm heading out to Oregon, which is pretty much completely random.  Well, okay, I do have a sister there.  But honestly, we'll be about an hour away from each other, and my whole plan is to live independently and like, see her on holidays.  Or something like that.

Mainly, I like Oregon because it's fairly liberal, has a lot of health conscious people (Eugene, where I'm moving, is known for its joggers and bicyclists), and a lot of vegans too.  This lines up well with my business (Arbonne) and my own personal philosophy on healthy living.  I am also planning to join a mushroom foraging group.  For fun.

I'll rent for a year and see if I really like it, then decide whether to stay, return to Virginia, or go somewhere completely different.

So, I'll keep you posted!  This is just the beginning, before I've even gone to closing or bought a plane ticket!  Many adventures yet to come here on the East Coast, I'm sure, before I can even find my way there.

So welcome to my blog!  And stay in touch!