I have been living in Maine for two months now. The way I have been feeling seems so big I don’t know where it begins or ends or blends into something else. I have wanted to write about it, but I have been (and still feel) unable to identify the elements to describe it. It felt scary while Linz and I were making our preparations to move, but those anxieties have made way for new ones. Already I have had the joy of experiencing beautiful and simple moments with my family and friends, moments that would not have happened were I not living here.
But now, as I forge a new routine and rhythm for myself, I feel swamped by my own expectations and experiences, unsure of how to sort them out. Part of the difficulty is not yet having a routine or rhythm. I know that as I build the structure for myself to reflect and digest and dream, things will ease. I expected certain elements of my California life to transfer here seamlessly, things I now know need time to grow their own roots and find a new way to live here. I’m confidant it will happen, but it’s not always easy being patient with myself.