on moving, and starting over (again)

For the most part, our move has been good. Our apartment/condo is really nice and actually bigger than our old house, I have an actual office now, the sun shines most days, and I’m no longer the lone foreigner in the room because here? there are so many people with complicated “where are you from” stories. I’ve been exploring the area on my bike, I found a new church, and my new library has an interlibrary loan service that gets me anything I want to read. Like I said, it’s good here.

But.

I miss my friends. I miss going to book club. I miss meeting friends for coffee. I miss having ecumenical theological conversations over lunch. I miss the community it took me more than a year to build, and it just feels so daunting to do that all over again here. Especially since I’m the trailing spouse here, and that’s such a liminal space to be in, and a directionless one at that. I do not like being directionless. Being directionless scares me. I believe in goals, and plans, and lists, and checking things off, and charging forward.

For most of my two years in Germany, I hibernated. I don’t think I even realized it until after I’d left, but I was so unhappy there. It wasn’t Germany’s fault, just a combination of circumstances, most of them mine and most of them things I’d been carrying around for years. After six months, or maybe a year in Utah, I kind of woke up and realized that whether I’d known it or not, I’d fought my way out of a depression and I was ready to start living again. And I did, and I was happy, for the most part.

And then we moved. And now we’ve been living here for three months, and I’ve made the total of one acquaintance (though a really fun one), and I have to keep reminding myself that it took me a while in Utah, too. It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. But if you have any tips for a socially anxious introvert on how to make friends, let me know, please. This stuff is hard.

 

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