On one hand, I'm really excited. I'm excited to be near Josh's brothers, and my blue-eyed niece and my brown-eyed nephews, and my sister-in-law. I'm excited to be able to invite people over without the drive being an inconvenience for them. I'm excited to be within walking distance of the library (!!!), the park, and my alma mate.
Not to mention that I LOVE the act of moving. Is that just me? I adore packing, and discovering old treasures at the top of the closet like the box of letters Josh wrote to me during our summer apart. I enjoy taking a pile of perfectly good but unloved-by-us stuff to Goodwill. And what's better than the feeling of organizing a brand-new (to me) kitchen? It's like getting a new journal, with pages fresh and begging to be filled in.
But...
I am so, so sad to leave this little farm. I'm in love with our apartment. I like that the kitchen is a part of the main room, so I can cook and be a part of the daily happenings. I like that I can clean it in fifteen minutes a day. I like that our five little neighbor girls come running to talk to us whenever they hear our door open.
But most of all, this year has led to some major lifestyle changes, ones that I hope will stick with us for the rest of our lives. Changes that have us absolutely determined to - someday - come back to West Virginia. We want this.
It's the hard work, self-sufficiency lifestyle of our landlords that have us searching for out-of-the-box ways to use the ingredients and supplies already in our home. That have forced us to value the things we have, rather than the things we want.
It's the need to be intentional about our friendships and relationships, instead of waiting for them to just "happen." About choosing the people we want to be our closest friends.
It's the distance from the high-stress, always-on-the-go lifestyle of NoVa. It's the time on the drive where we can just chat. Sing country songs with the radio. Ride in silence, each admiring the beauty of the drive.
It's the walks together as we pick out our dream houses, complete with window shutters and a front porch swing ("and rocking chairs, because we'll never be able to get the grandkids off the swing"). It's the dreaming that brings us to talks about long-term plans, goals, and hopes. And more kids.
It's the kindness of the people everywhere we go. The old men who stop us to see if we need a ride or if we would like to cut across their lawn for a shorter walk ("oh, thank you, but we're actually walking for the exercise!"). People who aren't too busy, too stressed, too exhausted, too mistrustful to smile and say hello.
I'm going to miss that.
I often tell people that in hindsight, if we had known Josh was going to change jobs, we wouldn't have moved. That's true. We never would have knowingly chosen his commute. And we were hoping to be able to stay here for at least a couple years.
But in hindsight, that may have been God's providence. We're both so glad we lived here. Our mindsets and goals have changed drastically. Our lifestyle and commitments have been so much more intentional. I'm becoming better at managing our home. We're both becoming better at maximizing the time that we have together.
*Sigh*
I've now managed to write myself into nostalgia. But isn't that a good thing? We love where we've been, we love where we are, and we love where we're going.
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| And let me tell you...this guy's ready to go places |
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