I’ve realized that the older I get the more set in my ways I become. I’d like to think there was a time when I rolled with whatever life threw at me, that I took life’s unexpected trials and tribulations with cool aplomb.
Now?
Life changes tend to throw me into a twist. This is not to be taken as: any change gets my blood pressure up. No, I like change, I like variety. I consider myself a life-long student of, well, everything. My interests are many and if anything I struggle with being decisive.
What I’m talking about are all the major life changes and transitions that have been occurring, and that continue to occur, with some regularity.
Just when I think things are settling down, falling into a rhythmic pattern … WHAM.
I am a homebody at heart. I love to get out, explore, socialize, experience, but I equally love being home, nurturing my space and psyche.
Having children throws any kind of “normalcy” out the window when it comes to a predictable life (this is a plus), so I suspect part of my craving for stability comes from the ups and downs of raising kids.
In addition, the toll that living in L.A. for nearly ten years took on me cannot be underestimated. And now, I find myself pulled back to this place yet again.
L.A., for me, is like living in limbo. In all my time here I never felt a connection to place, never felt a sense of home. Were it not for our family of friends here, I may have very well gone off the deep end. This place is sensory overload and it takes mere minutes “out there” for my blood pressure to tick steadily up.
Moving back to Grand Rapids was a shock on many levels. I’d acclimated to L.A. life, and not in ways I want to model for my children. People here rarely acknowledge one another; everyone is in a my-ass-is-on-fire hurry nearly all the time. After awhile I found myself acquiescing, accepting this as normal.
We lived in an apartment complex for seven years and knew the names of three of our neighbors. Most wouldn’t make eye contact, let alone return a simple “hello.” It took me two years to figure out that a classmate I took a photography course with back in Michigan lived in our complex. When I approached her to (re)introduce myself, she was initially standoffish and rude. Only after I quickly launched into my explanation (“you were in my Photo 1 course with Pete Taylor, remember?”) did she let her guard down a touch, and two minutes later was offering to make lunch plans with me (she moved out of the complex shortly after; we never did have lunch).
It’s taken me awhile to shake off this mentality, to believe that people around me can be (and are) genuine on a daily basis.
I mean no disrespect to the wonderful people who live in L.A., to the handful of people we came to know and love during our time here (in addition to all of our friends from film school that trickled out to “live the dream”). For me, it’s more about the cumulative energy that exists in L.A. I feel it, and it wears on me. It seems everyone wears a protective barrier at all times, and finding a way through that is exhausting … not to mention frustrating.
So when Vinny got the call to work out here for several months, it was with a cautious heart that I agreed to come. It’s what we need to do for our family right now, so really, there is no question, but it was extremely difficult to leave “home,” because for the first time in a long time, a place actually feels like home to me.
Most people don’t get this. And it’s something I’ve tried to explain numerous times, usually to no avail. Any of my writer friends know that the concept of home continually crops up in my work; it’s one of my obsessions (this originally stems from all the moving I did as a child).
Now that I have children, I want them to have a strong sense of home. There were so many things we were looking forward to this fall/winter: celebrating Eli’s 2nd birthday (today!) with friends and family, hosting Thanksgiving, experiencing our first Christmas together as a family in our new home, and experiencing Michigan’s Fall and Winter among them.
We will surely make memories out here in L.A., and I am thankful that we have such a solid foundation of friends here; they truly are part of our extended family. But I can’t deny that this particular transition has been difficult, and that on some days I am not being my best self. Between the travel, Eli being sick, stubborn adjustments to the time change, and just a general sense of “where the hell are we,” the kids have also been struggling.
The other day, after taking Eli to the pediatrician and getting drops for his ears, I set upon the task of administering said drops. I was wary, unsure of how he would respond. In true Eli fashion he took it in stride, even seemed to enjoy getting “bubbles” in his ears. He now asks for them, points to his ears several times a day wondering if it’s time for his bubbles.
He once again reminds me to slow down, take a breath, and take it all in stride. He reminds me that just because we’re here it doesn’t mean our life is on hold until we get back home. We already call the apartment here home because it’s where we all are. Together. Even though my mind tries to make it more complicated than that, it really is that simple.
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