Existential Angst and the Cross-Country Move: Week 42 Review

The last week of Service Month passed with my doing very little service. There were a few random acts and I made a point of staying to help clean up after the farewell party my friend hosted for us, but my real focus this week has been on trying not to freak out about this move.

And by “freak out” I mostly mean being scared into paralysis by the idea of moving yet again.

On the one hand, I am very excited about the move. I’ve been in touch with the homeschooling community out there and have received dozens of warm, welcoming, helpful replies. I’m excited about all of the thriving groups and opportunities for homeschoolers in the area. I’m excited for the road trip and the thrill of crossing state lines and seeing my country unfold before me. I’m excited to live among green plants and trees and moisture in the air again. I’m excited to experience a New England fall in a few months. I’m excited to view empty apartments and homes for rent. Ever since I was a child, I’ve loved walking through empty dwellings and then, when I drive or walk by months and years later, the thrill of knowing what’s inside of those houses and knowing that relatively few people share that knowledge.

But there’s the flip side of that excitement: malaise and exhaustion. A sense of, “this again?”

After spending the better part of a decade out west, I’m not excited to learn the streets in a former colony again. I’ve been spoiled here in Salt Lake where the address of a building tells you exactly where it is in the city. Roads into towns in New England resemble the spokes of a wheel. They’re not straight and for the most part, they’re not numbered. They make no intuitive sense. I’m not sure I have the energy to get lost over and over, which is the fastest way I’ve found to make those roads make sense.

When we moved to Utah, I hit the ground running, socially speaking. I joined clubs and service organizations and started planning play dates for my daughter almost the moment we arrived. Now it’s three years later and we’re leaving. I can’t help but have a bit of a sense that all of that work and energy to build relationships was somewhat pointless. And then if I’m really tired I get to thinking, what’s the point of developing relationships at all? We’re beings with finite lifespans. Nothing lasts forever.

Luckily, I have an optimist on one shoulder countering the pessimist on the other, so I can’t help but believe that there’s some point in interpersonal relationships beyond momentary amusement. But even so, I find it somewhat difficult to work up a lot of enthusiasm for the same targeted approach to relationship building that I engaged in when we moved to Utah. I don’t like socializing for socializing’s sake. I want it to mean something and to have a chance of leading to something lasting. Three years doesn’t feel like long enough. But then, how long is long enough?

More than anything, I feel exhausted by the number of possibilities available to me. I know, waa-waa, the whine of the middle class. But as I look at the map of our route cross-country, I can’t help but think how people all across the country make their lives in places I’ve never even seen. That’s without even thinking of other countries, which is just completely overwhelming. I could live anywhere. And while that seems like it would feel like freedom, it feels oppressive to me. If the choice is left to me, what if I make the wrong one? And if there isn’t a wrong choice, then what’s the point of making any choice at all?

Someone I spoke with suggested that the malaise I’m feeling is a defense mechanism. The alternative is to feel sad about leaving, and since I’m not quite willing to feel sad about leaving (I don’t know why exactly, but I know I’m reluctant to feel the sadness…I just want to put it off), I’m covering that emotion over withboredom and exhaustion.

That seems like it makes sense. But knowing that doesn’t really help me.

Maybe once the movers get here and we have some more forward momentum I’ll feel more energized.