Getting that down finally forced me to be willing to consider taking a job here that is longer term and less sexy than what I originally wanted. I have an interview this Wednesday, and will spend the next few days preparing.
Once I called the recruiter and told her I was interested in the job after all (she had proposed it to me shortly after I moved here), I was flooded with even more sadness. I suspect this is what I have been trying to avoid in my reluctance to commit to being here: Admitting that my life on the west coast as it was during the past year is Over. That was a tsunami of grief, and there are still a few waves of it rolling onto the beach now and then.
On the other side of the grief is the knowledge that the west coast is still there, and I am connected to people in ways that sometimes surprise me. You don't know how much it means to me to know you're all out there (wherever you are), to read your comments and emails, get a phone call, etc. It's like the salt in the water that's keeping me afloat.
Along with the grief, I was experiencing fear, mainly about the unpredictability of the future. In some ways that probably seems silly: The future is always unpredictable. But when our day-to-day lives are anchored in the familiar -- a home, a job, stable relationships with the people around us -- it's easier to lull oneself into thinking that the next day will be basically an extension of this one. There's a greater sense of control and ability to plan the future. I don't experience that much these days. On the good days, that seems like an adventure. On the tough days, not so much.
On Friday afternoon, I wandered into an Italian deli in the Bytown Market. The smells instantly transported me to Commercial Drive: olives, cheeses, sausages and pastramis. I wandered the aisles fondly recognizing the same boxes and jars and Mediterranean delicacies. It was comforting to be somewhere that familiar.
I feel some embarrassment that this transition has been so challenging for me. Other people have much, much tougher stuff happen to them and have the courage and resilience to get through. I'm pretty freaking lucky. At the same time, I recognize that I'm experiencing something very common and human, that almost all of us, at some time will have or have had our lives disrupted in ways that disorient us and cause us pain. I hope that I can learn well enough from this that I can be of good service to others at a similar or more difficult place in their journey. I hope that I can be as good a friend to them as all the friends who are supporting me.
Today I walked my first orienteering course. It seemed terribly appropriate to be wandering around in the bush with a map and a compass trying to find the next checkpoint. I was often slow and lost, but I finished!
I've come to accept that Ottawa is a chrysalis for me, and that I am, right now, a gooey, mucky ball of plasma in the midst of transforming from a caterpillar to (please!) something more beautiful. (I desperately hope that after all this I'm not going to be just a big, grey moth.) Although I may be feeling incredibly claustrophobic and desperate to get out, now is not the time. There's a lot more work ahead.
To close, here's a reminder that I received in my mailbox a couple days ago that has been helpful to me.
The capacity for love is within each of us and has been active all around us, pervading our world from the moment we were born. The claim that love pervades this world may not sound real to you but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Most of us just haven’t learned to pay much attention to the countless moments of love, kindness, and care that surround us each day: a child at the store reaching for a parent’s hand, an elder at the park who smiles upon a young family, a grocery clerk who beams at you as she hands you your change. - John Makransky
Wishing you all much love,
Lynn
Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.
what's wrong with big grey moths.... ;-)
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