This past week was about transitions. That might seem like a “duh, Sam” statement, but it’s always surprising to live the transition of moving to a brand new place.
- A time difference, even of only three hours, requires adjustment. (The one saving grace is that the culture runs three hours behind, so it’s almost a wash.)
- Cultural differences like coffee shops not opening until 9am, very few places accepting credit cards, and a typical day running from 10am-1am.
- A new place to live with a different bed and different kitchen utensils and different wifi passwords and different cooling standards.
- A new coworking space with new faces.
- New water.
- No kale, no spinach, no milk alternatives.
- The language. (I’m thankful for every English-speaker I’ve found.)
Transition makes the little things stand out:
- finding grated parmesan cheese at the grocery store
- Netflix working
- living near the one juice bar in BA
- texts from friends
- hearing American music play every.where. (They love Sia here! (and Miley Cyrus, lolz)
There’s also the on-going transition of realizing that I can’t just drive to that cool, new, Austin restaurant I saw on Instagram or go to Vox Veniae on Sunday or listen to vinyl with, my friends, Shane and Liz. I’m really disappointed that I can’t join the Womens’ March on the 21st, and I miss my gym.
I have a lot to miss because I had a really good life in Austin. It took years to build that life, and I savored it.
I’m learning that transitions aren’t really about letting go, though.
The point is not to move on from the people, places, and things that mean the most to me. The point is to be stretched, to be broken open, to have the tight fingers of insecurity be pried apart so that I can experience abundance. Our hearts are so big—capable of so much—but we keep them locked down out of fear. We fear, both, letting people in and losing them.
I’m learning that life isn’t about how many people I’ve said goodbye to but about how many people I love. Present tense. And I love deeply and widely and passionately, and I realize that’s how God wants me to love because that’s how God loves me.
I will say it again: Transition isn’t about saying goodbye to the people, places, and things I love. It’s about saying goodbye to my fear that my heart is too small to hold both the new and the old. It’s about saying goodbye to my fear that my love, my person, is so unremarkable, so inadequate, that I could be forgotten. It’s about saying goodbye to my fear that I won’t have enough (love, support, money).
These fears take up space in my heart.
It’s only after I release them that I can have room to hold the old and allow the new faces and new places and new beauty to make their way to me.
Everyone on this list who I know personally, I love you from the bottom of my heart, and I cherish your support. Everyone on this list who I have yet to meet face-to-face, the time will come, and I’m looking forward to it.