So. I finally slept last night, soundly, only turning over as the six o’clock alarm went off and Monday stared peering around the edges of the shades. We have done it. The sign is in the yard. Our Realtor has fired up the great machine that sends the news of our house out where the buyers are, clicking through pictures and driving around with nervousness and hope. And we have found the area we want to be in, and walked the safe and side-walked less than a quarter mile to the library, the coffee shops, the park.
All my life I have been at home, at the window, waiting for rides, or waiting for the weekend and my husband’s off hours. I’ve coordinated errands, and doctor’s appointments, and signed up for Amazon Prime to bring popcorn and gym socks and books to our door. We have juggled car pools.
It is a good life. At every new season, I have bee blessed with friends who “get it,” who come and get me, who don’t want me to miss out on dinners and coffees and a Saturday at the thrift store. John has never once complained, about joining all of Greenville at Costco on Saturday morning, or driving kids to school. It is a good life for an introvert like me, who needs long quiet hours to do my good work, who needs to recover after spending people energy.
But yesterday, on that sidewalk, waiting for the green lit message to walk, a new path opened in my imagination, a path of self-determination and independence. I felt the simple, gracious shape of the words in my mouth: “I’ll meet you there.” There are hurdles between here and there, but that is where this way goes.
Not to a better life, but perhaps a wider one. For me surely, and for our boys, who are just the right ages to head off on bikes, to forge their own adventures.
We have loved it here, beneath our pecan trees. I’m trimming the roses and watching the lily buds swell and there is bittersweetness in the very morning light that pours into the kitchen. But then there is this other path, day by day more real under my feet.