I feel bewildered.
Lost is not too strong a term.
But not lost in that I wish I hadn’t gotten lost. Lost in that I know I’m where I’m supposed to
be, but it is so very very unfamiliar.
And I miss familiar – a lot.
I feel like I am waking up in someone else's bed with someone else's life. This probably has a
lot to do with the fact that simultaneous to my setting myself adrift from the
church, we moved twice in one year. I
live in an unfamiliar house in an unfamiliar neighborhood. My kids go to different school, I shop at new
stores. I watch the sunrise and sunset
from a different vantage point now that we are in the west plains rather than
the East benches. The pittering quail
and overgrown trees of Sandy have been replaced with winter’s fallow fields and
swarms of black and white birds swarming in big empty skies. It’s a good life, it’s a nice place, but
nothing feels familiar. Did I mention
this is very disconcerting? I would not flinch if I looked in the mirror and
saw a different countenance than the one that has appeared for the last 37
years.
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