scribblechic

Last weekend we painted our daughter’s room. It was a questionable commitment to an uncertain shade of happiness. Her wall color and bed frame grounding an otherwise impersonal space in an intimate expression of self.

Gone was the pastel pink of her nursery or preteen purple of our last home; there wasn’t a hint of my choosing in her shade of joy. It was the first time I let go completely, without rules or interference. Bold swaths of color cut through the monotone neutral walls that link each room in a comfortable calm.

If my daughter was relaxed and euphoric as she waited on paint to dry, I was cautiously anxious. This change drew my attention and I watched, circling nervously, as one corner of our home stretched beyond my comfort into a daring risk and noisy expression.

Yellow and blue clanged in want of admiration and I found myself paused on the periphery of something unexpectedly familiar; envying my daughter her confidence in the ease of her playful choice.

The leap of faith in her certainty as she colored outside the lines to better shade her space with individuality.

I walked into the clothing  boutique hoping to find a top; something comfortable and stylish, affordable and modest. I was feeling a little off-center and searching out encouragement. Self conscious, I moved through the racks of material with embarrassment; hugging the periphery of everyone’s attention for invisibility.

I was looking for borrowed confidence when I found an uncomfortable reflection of self in another’s image.

It happened as so many lessons do, in an unexpected conversation with a stranger. I had been dodging small talk, sticking to the perimeter of the store;  just far enough from anyone in particular that I might browse without obligatory niceties. A determined greeter with leading questions engaged me until I was stuck in the middle of an introduction that would follow me through the afternoon like a forgotten tag.

On the surface there was nothing exceptional about the conversation. The stranger welcomed me to my new community with thoughtful advice on her own experiences as a veteran transplant. Dressed and coiffed, confident and extroverted she steamrolled my introverted insecurities unknowingly.

I extracted myself from the forced exchange after a determined handshake and polite measure of thanks, willing myself a righteous indignation for the sales woman’s glossy superiority. I cursed the way her confidence fed my doubts and rallied privately against her kindness.

Except the story in my head was no longer guided by the stranger’s happiness, it was frustrated with my selfishness. Damning myself for the delusion of inferiority.

Why must a stranger’s confidence be tempered by my insecurities? I was measuring myself against another and translating those inconsistencies into an evaluation of worth; wasting a less exhaustive celebration of differences for the thief of comparison.

I am allowed my tenderness as another is allowed their boldness.

I left the store empty-handed, but with a wealth of perspective.

We cannot buy confidence and we are not built up by the insecurities of other’s or quieter fears of self-doubt. I am not better than or less than another by comparison.

As I write this it is unofficial, still, a tiny secret hidden in carefully measured words and casual nonchalance; a promise blossoming into a lovely reality that few know slumbers in poorly contained efforts of normalcy. We are moving, out-of-state, to a place at once familiar and unknown.

It is not quite time to share our news, for now I will scribble notes on so many thoughts and emotions we cannot yet voice; preserving this day before it can be tarnished by doubt or disappointment. Tomorrow we will tell our children; one day soon, our friends.

The Choice

The question of moving, the restless discontent, has been ever-present for some time. Not for want of comfort do we leave this home for another; we live in a safe suburb, a family oriented neighborhood with good schools and old friends. This knowledge weighs heavy on my heart. Are we greedy to want unapologetically for something else in light of so much goodness?

This move is a manifestation of a long anticipated wish and a much needed change. To stay would be a procrastination of the inevitable; to go a reckless leap of faith.

And so we leap.

The Search

My husband and I began our search by naming our place and shaping the home we sought to find. Mapping our needs with pencil and paper. Setting budgets and itemizing wants against necessity.

A smaller living space to draw us closer across a table; bedrooms far enough apart to invite privacy; an unused space for later, to create side-by-side. Less home, more room for family.

Then we walked the bricks and beams of possibility, aligning our dreams to the concrete space available. Recognizing excess and preserving our integrity against temptation. Pushing against the lure of someone else’s ideal and recognizing the reflection of our dreams on empty walls; larger than we expected and small enough to gather us near.

The Trade

When we had made a choice that spoke to where we might move, we then looked through unbiased eyes at the home we would leave behind. Asking someone we trust to measure the worth of a home; walls that were witness to the life in our years, floors that weathered worried paths and a roof that sheltered us from harm.

Practical in our hopes we insisted that our plans were balanced on a foundation of accountability; to honor both financial security and emotional well-being.

Parenting Change

Only when we were certain of our choice, could we plan to tell our children. Recognizing we cannot place the burden of such complicated uncertainties on their shoulders, we determined this was our choice to make. Soon our children will juggle enthusiasm and grief, difficult goodbyes and nervous excitement. I am terrified to bridge a conversation we cannot avoid. Instead, for today, I am making lists for the days to come.

Packing

It is time we begin the work of moving our lives to a new beginning. Determining what we guard against change and what must be left behind. Dividing hours into efforts to prepare our home for new residents and our friends for unhappy news.

It is a work of adventure; terrifying and exhilarating, exhausting and inspiring. It is an exercise in bravery to stand so fiercely vulnerable in our hopes and fears.

–

To my children,

I will tell you that this decision was a simple necessity, that we followed your father’s career. This is a partial truth. There were innumerable financial benefits to our choice, but it was an emotional decision facilitated by finances, not a financial decision based on emotions.

This choice was about who we are, separately and together, as a family. It began when your father and I fell in love.

I accompanied your father to his family’s home after college, uncertain where to begin the next chapter of a story we had already begun.  We were playing house when we became pregnant and we happily set aside so many unfocused daydreams for the reality of an unplanned dream come true.

We looked for a home, grateful for the privilege our ability afforded. Our first house was small and in need of care, ill-fitting our wants but rich with possibility. We nestled into that home without remorse and created a space that provided both comfort and security. We left only when our small family outgrew the practicalities of our space.

This is where we lost ourselves.

When we moved it was under duress, at a time of emotional uncertainty when we felt forced to follow a current of momentum that swept us against hurried, uncomfortable change. The next several years were stressful. We learned you can move walls, but old memories are not so easily forgotten. The space between us mirrored the space that surrounded us. In our larger home we were pulled apart into different corners and I longed for the tiny, communal space of our first home.

This brings us to this past year. I’ve watched your father hurt in our home, to hear unkind words pelt his spirit and damage the tenderness and generosity of his nature. He needs a chance to start from a place untouched by heartache and I promised to honor these needs when we started our life together.

It is a time to heal and so we have chosen to return as a family to our beginning as a couple; it is the place we first fell in love, where we first dreamed together and planned. It is a smaller space, a slower pace, with time enough to try again. I hope our years here will be good years for you, I will work tirelessly to that end, but I need you to respect that I am making this decision for your father.

You are too young now to fully comprehend the language of respect and need that informs a balance between marriage and motherhood. One does not outweigh the other, it is a sliding scale of need that shuffles our priorities and directs our attention. From the moment we first entertained the reality of this choice, your father has smiled from a truer place and his joy has become contagious. Even before we shared our plans, you have begun smiling more; leaning into the vacancy once occupied by unhappiness and mirroring a calmer contentment. This alone has filled the space of my doubts with certainty.

We will miss our friends and the safety of familiar comforts, there will be days this sadness challenges peace. Know that there will be many more moments in your life that you will one day recall these experiences for encouragement. You will make friends who will scatter across great distances, choose careers, travel unfamiliar landscapes, make a home and, perhaps, build a family. Life is a series of impossible choices that require we know ourselves, our limits and our dreams, that we can better move through uncertainty, together.

There is no guarantee, no promise that this will be easy. You can be sad and terrified, I am too, but I choose to be hopeful. Remember this choice is not about the space we inhabit, but the people with whom we share our home.

Love, Mom