Still Settling

I miss Houston. Scrolling through instagram shows me photo after photo of art exhibitions I would love to go to (the Jamal Cyrus survey at the Blaffer Art Museum, on view through September 19) and new restaurants I want to eat at (Houston Sauce Co’s Mo’Better Brews opening on Southmore on Juneteenth). 

I miss our home, with its morning light on the blue and orange rug where I did yoga and the room that was perfect for our giant heirloom dining set (even if the pandemic kept us from throwing regular dinner parties). I miss my routines and my people: coffee dates with Abbey every Wednesday, zoom calls and online church.

Yesterday I finally got to see in person the house that Michael and I will be renting here, starting July 1. The current renters are moving back to Spain and when we stopped by over lunchtime, the woman told us that she’s really sad to leave that house. I smiled, remembering how I’d felt the same thing, showing my half-packed apartment to a dozen prospective renters in May. 

“I still feel like I’m in limbo,” I said to my therapist during a recent zoom session. I don’t feel settled yet, because I’m literally not settled yet. Michael and I are still living in my parents’ basement, with half my clothes stored in different closets around the house and a few of them stacked in semi-neat little piles on the carpeted basement floor.

I’m finding ways to create interim rhythms here: writing my morning pages every morning on the back deck, then setting up my laptop on the desk I dragged into the shade. I have to wipe off the fresh layer of pollen every morning, but then I get to sit with a view of the mountains. 

I’m used to jumping into life and having it come at me full force, but this transition feels more like easing in. I’m in between semesters for grad school; I’m hoping to (need to, since Boulder rent is nearly double what we paid in Houston) get a part time job but haven’t secured one yet; Michael and I have started googling Boulder County tango classes. Instead, I’ve been spending time with my brothers. The other night, Grant brought over Chinese takeout and we ate on the back deck together. I’ve been driving down to Sam’s house to mess around with gems and wire in his workshop, and we’re designing some collaborative jewelry pieces. It’s a different pace of life in a different place, but it’s not bad. 

Recognizing that I feel like I’m in limbo because I’m in limbo frees me to remove any judgment from it. Of course everything feels strange—it is strange. But it won’t be this way forever, and this micro-season, just like the last one, has unique things to offer.