When last I wrote, I had just quit my job. I knew I'd be moving, knew I'd be shelving my career, at least in its current form, but didn't know much more than that. Now, I have three work days left. Daniel and I just returned from a four-day trip to Nashville, Tennessee for house hunting and overall orientation. It was a whirlwind. We learned some things along the way.
1. This really is happening. Because the "mights" had started to pile up months ago, it was starting to get easier to say "we might be moving" or "my husband has been offered a job that would relocate us." I had even started to say "I am quitting my job because my family is moving to Nashville." But for some reason, until we were on the plane it didn't really seem real. Spending the day with a realtor and looking at houses certainly sent it screeching home too. Every morning in Nashville, as I often do in hotels, I woke up disoriented. Once I remembered where I was, I had to remember why I was there. Even though I've known it was coming, and even though it's a change we are mostly looking forward to and have chosen, it is still a lot to process.
2. We genuinely like Nashville. This is such a relief. We had previously spent two rainy weekends in a much closer state looking in areas that just didn't work for us. There were tears, because we had real reasons we wanted those places to work out and real signs it was clear they weren't going to. We were betting a lot on the Nashville area, having already initiated the practically irreversible process of moving toward a place we had never really been. Imagine our relief when we found we like it there. There was a lot to do, the people we met were genuine (not syrupy sweet), the unsweet tea was plentiful and good, great food (even foodie food) wasn't hard to find, and music was everywhere. Fortunately, not just country music.
3. There might be a tiny Southern girl inside me. About an hour after we landed, I was flipping through radio stations in the car, belting out country songs I had forgotten I knew the words to (in a somewhat convincing Southern drawl). Daniel groaned, "I knew it was going to happen; I just didn't think it would be so soon!' By the end of the weekend I heard my diphthongs dropping (that is, "I love it" started sounding more like "Ahh luhhv it"). I am not yet okay with this phenomenon; however, if I ever do embrace it, I like to think the tiny Southern girl inside me is something like Kristin Chenoweth, but even tinier. Who knows, maybe we'll be very happy together.
4. At least for now, our life is not conducive to urban living. This was a tough one. Though we had a day full of showings scheduled with a realtor for Friday, Thursday we ventured out to check out some Craigslist finds of our own. This was fruitful, but not like you'd think. The one and only appealing listing we found in a desirable downtown neighborhood was first. We were hopeful. Until the owner answered the door.
"I can't remember if I told you about Ron over the phone," she said, "but he lives on the back of the house." I knew we couldn't leave right away, but I wanted to. The house had wonderful, 85-year-old bones, but the renovations she kept pointing out were far too minor to make much of an impact. And then there was the issue of Ron, which she kept bringing up. "I don't rent this space," she said, pointing to a 4-foot square between two locked doors, "because it's a sound buffer for Ron. Though Ron is very quiet. He's an artist." We had made a game plan in the car for how we would keep all the listings straight in our mind; I had entered the house with my camera in hand. At this point, I quietly slid it in my purse.
Outside on the ramshackle deck, the owner gestured to the parking out back, where Ron's El Camino was parked, though he was out of town. And finally, as she mentioned what would and would not be repaired in the backyard, she pointed to the once-white, now peeling picket fence. "We are not going to paint the fence," she said resolutely, "because Ron hates stark-white paint." On the spreadsheet Daniel had prepared for note taking I started to write "run-down," but eventually just wrote RON. Enough said.
"I can't remember if I told you about Ron over the phone," she said, "but he lives on the back of the house." I knew we couldn't leave right away, but I wanted to. The house had wonderful, 85-year-old bones, but the renovations she kept pointing out were far too minor to make much of an impact. And then there was the issue of Ron, which she kept bringing up. "I don't rent this space," she said, pointing to a 4-foot square between two locked doors, "because it's a sound buffer for Ron. Though Ron is very quiet. He's an artist." We had made a game plan in the car for how we would keep all the listings straight in our mind; I had entered the house with my camera in hand. At this point, I quietly slid it in my purse.
Outside on the ramshackle deck, the owner gestured to the parking out back, where Ron's El Camino was parked, though he was out of town. And finally, as she mentioned what would and would not be repaired in the backyard, she pointed to the once-white, now peeling picket fence. "We are not going to paint the fence," she said resolutely, "because Ron hates stark-white paint." On the spreadsheet Daniel had prepared for note taking I started to write "run-down," but eventually just wrote RON. Enough said.
Historic downtown Franklin
We determined that this experience was good for us. The rest of our showings were suburban, either in Nashville or just outside, in Franklin. We need a bit of a yard, safe walking paths, playgrounds, and a pool for our little ones. We need to feel safe when Daniel is frequently gone. And as we have learned over the past couple years, though much to our dismay, city living is not likely to provide those things the way we need it to. I think we are still city people at heart. But we are putting that aside and making decisions for the girls who hold much larger pieces of our hearts.
Our future home
The first few times we have visited our next neighborhood, I have hyperventilated as we approached it. Though Tennessee has much more open space than I am accustomed to, it seems they like to build their subdivisions large and tight. Homes are very close together. I know I lived in a rowhome for five years, but this is different. Once I am in the neighborhood and in the house, I relax and think of all the ways my children are going to thrive in this environment-- of all the ways I am going to thrive with the glorious fridge I am about to have. But it is an adjustment.
With my siblings at Christmas
5. This is going to be even harder than we thought. I have always been a working mother, or I should say, a mother who worked a full-time job away from home. I have always been torn over this. I still am. But now I am making a much-wanted transition to staying home. And while I welcome it and embrace this time, it's still a transition. Still a change. Still hard.
Daniel is starting a new job in an entirely new place. He will be wonderful. But for him, it is still hard.
And most of all, we are moving from all my family and from much of Daniel's. Farther than we've ever been. Away from our friends, our church, our help, our comfort. And it will be an adventure, and it will be good for us, and there will be much good that comes out of it. We are grateful for all of it. But, man, is it hard.
Daniel is starting a new job in an entirely new place. He will be wonderful. But for him, it is still hard.
And most of all, we are moving from all my family and from much of Daniel's. Farther than we've ever been. Away from our friends, our church, our help, our comfort. And it will be an adventure, and it will be good for us, and there will be much good that comes out of it. We are grateful for all of it. But, man, is it hard.
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