Temporary? Insanity

We spent the last year moving every three months. Putting it mildly, it was a rough year. I was pregnant for most of it (and our bed was an inflatable one – picture that, if you will), and depressed much of the time as well. Just as we started settling in and making friends, we whisked off somewhere new. Enter a whole new cast; new life, new everything. It was unsettling, it was lonely, it was exhausting.

I ate a lot of chocolate. I estimate that I received half an hour of comfort from each chocolate bar or cookie. I won’t tell you what the total tally of hours is. As honest as I intend to be here, there are some things which are far too personal to share.

We’re now settling into our new home in the 100 Mile House area. It’s in the South Cariboo region of British Columbia, and suddenly, this is home. Neil is signing a three year contract. Three years instead of three months. I had better like it here.

I like having a house. It’s indescribable, the difference between a two bedroom apartment and a huge three bedroom house with full basement, two decks, and an enormous yard. I felt kind of lost our first week here. It’s starting to feel more like home, and our family is slowly falling into various routines. The kids seem happier, and I think I am too.

Happiness in our home aside, I’ve been pathetically lonely. I can’t think of a better description than that. The church here is so small – only forty members or thereabouts. Only one is anywhere near my age, and I just don’t see us becoming that close. I’m saddened by that, but reminded of a term from Anne of Green Gables. Kindred Spirits. There’s a definite feeling when I meet someone, as to whether they fall into that category or not.

We live in a very rural area. Lots of interlocking log fences in this neighbourhood. Everyone has a huge pile of chopped wood somewhere on their property, and most have animals. Our neighbours have chickens. Others on our street have horses. Our property overlooks a huge pasture that the community uses in common. We had horses at our gate yesterday. Often I can hear them nickering as I sit in our living room. It’s bizarre to me. City born and bred, and suddenly I’m living in the country. We can see a lake from our living room window. It’s so beautiful here, and I feel so out of place. But there’s the hope of feeling…in place, someday.

I feel an intense need to build some sort of social life for myself here. Neil has his work, where he gets to interact with dozens of people every day. I have Emma and Rebecca. I love them dearly, but I need more conversation than they’re able to give. I feel a little panicky at times, hearkening back to memories of school days, when I was the new kid at school and couldn’t seem to make friends. I don’t want to relive those experiences. I’m not shy anymore, so ideally things should be better now.

I think they will be. I think it’s just a matter of finding my way. What a vague statement! Yet how can I feel anything but vague right now, when so much is undetermined?

I haven’t visited the library yet. There hasn’t been much of a need, as we’ve finally unpacked the myriad of boxes we’ve had in storage these past four years. My books! So many old friendships to be rekindled. And the idea of visiting the library here is very unappealing. I’ve seen the outside only, and it’s small. Worryingly small. Apparently my happiness is so bound up with the written word, that I shudder at the thought of discovering how limiting my library experience will be.

Ah well, Neil will be a rich doctor someday and then I can buy whatever I like. I hate having that insiduous thought creeping about in the back of my head! I can too well imagine the many foolish decisions I and our family will soon start making. My mum thinks that our wealth will be our greatest trial in life. I laughed at first, but have come to realize she may well be right. How much more difficult will it be to spend wisely when there will be so much more to spend? How do we prioritize?

Emma is awake and so I have to close. I’ve set a goal for myself; no fiddling about on the computer except when the girls are sleeping. It helps me feel like a better mother, and the clicking of the keyboard fills the silence nicely.