You don't make, time will.

On messy beginnings and uncertain tomorrows

This week is unusual enough to merit a departure from the usual line-up of sections, tidbits, and oddities that make up Percolations. (Also — fun fact — this marks the 100th issue of the newsletter. :)

Unusual because, well, I did a thing I’ve thought of doing for the past four years but never imagined would happen so soon.

I moved out of my parents’ house this week.

…And with that one statement I shall detonate an explosion of questions from those who know me. (Especially those who know me and my family.) Questions ranging from “Uh…why would you do that?” to “What took you so long?” to “Are you sure you’d be fine?”

Sure, I’d grant that this shift beats just about any other experiment I’ve run on my life so far. And in terms of potential for (and seriousness of) failure,¹ it’s kinda risky.

But the varied hues and tones of people’s wonderment and reactions don’t even come close to matching the spectacular mess of thoughts and emotions that swirled around in my head and heart as I packed my stuff and drove 30 minutes west of the place I’d called home for the past four years, and the people I’ve lived with for the past twenty-three — thoughts and feelings that continue to swirl as I look around my room now and think, “I am here…now what?”

Private reasons for moving run deeper and more painfully than the surface ones I’d throw onto the internet — like “figured my twenties is the best time I have to make the sort of mistakes I’d make as I learn to live life on my own,” or “time to use the wings my God and my parents gave me,” or (as a sister put it) “Odelia’s always had an independent streak, guess this move was coming all along” — and yet, with pain and joy tightly intertwined, I am thankful for having made this decision and for it all working out so far.

Scared? Sure. In ways I’ve never been scared before.

Sorrowful? Yes. Less than three days in, and I already miss the sounds and music of my family members, the peace and quiet of the country, the routines I’ve gotten used to, and of course Rags.

Stressed? I have so much to learn and do, sometimes before I fully understand what said things are about. Money stuff,² car stuff,³ health stuff,⁴ work stuff,⁵ friends stuff,⁶ exploration stuff⁷ — suddenly the smallest decisions seem more weighty and deviations from what I already know feels more stressful than they should.

It’s uncomfortable, new, and thrilling. It’s like jumping off a cliff and spreading a pair of wings you’ve never used for flying before. There’s just so much you don’t know, so much you’ve never had to deal with or struggle through before…and so, almost desperately, you seek for a sense of home and belonging.

I asked someone I’d met last month how I could make my new space feel like “home.” He’s a fellow who’d moved across borders years ago and learned to make a new living, life, and home by himself in a new country, and his response was a wise one.

He said: “You don’t make, time will.”

I could put up my stuff exactly how I like them; I could light candles, add cozy textiles, and arrange furniture exactly how I want them (except for the massive bed); I could eat snacks and do work on my desk until I’m sick of cookies and screens. And still it wouldn’t feel like home.

Because the home-ness of a place — just like the friend-ness of an interpersonal relationship — isn’t something you could get just for the asking, or force into existence, or plan-and-execute your way into.

Making an objective “whatever” into a subjective “this” takes repetition, attention, details, and time.

Lots and lots of time.

Time — the one thing that is most fair, ruthless, and available to all of us. It’s that intangible ingredient that helps you see wounds in a new way, taste different flavors of a situation, and feel whether it’s worth stopping to get ten dollars of gas just to chat with a fellow who asked you if you were truly happy the last time you were at the gas station.

It deserves more of our respect and appreciation, this thing called time. Maybe less of our control and demands, and more of an open-handed awareness.

Grand thoughts aside, here’s something to laugh about: Last night was the first time I’ve changed sheets on a mattress (and actually made my bed!) in years. I feel like I’m both regressing and progressing at the same time. My back isn’t liking the comfiness so far, but the rest of my body does, so I’m not gonna grumble about the existence of a bed just yet.

Now, if you’d excuse me — I’m barely on track with my usual commitments; my pile of index card notes for October no longer fits inside its neat leather sleeve; and I need to look up how to care for the aloe vera plant my sister gave me as a housewarming gift. :)

Ciao!

Odelia

1. IF I fail, that is. But I don’t have a definition for that yet, so maybe failure is impossible.

2. Cash, credit cards, point cards, credit unions, spreadsheets…it’s not like I have zero idea of what I’m doing, but it feels like I’ve skipped a few levels in a game and am now in over my head in information and need-to-do’s.

3. My Suby is called “Stygian Tide.” Don’t ask me why I give my cars such foreboding names. Personally, there’s a double-edged meaning for such, usually. Maybe one day I’d explain. Maybe never.

4. For example: Is good beer worth the percentage it’s currently claiming of my food-and-drinks budget?

5. I have clients who delete me from their life without explanation or warning. I have other people who want to give me more and more money. Life is funny.

6. I’ve been making friends in neat places recently. Next to camper vans, in the middle of a road, inside a garage, and more recently, at a gas station. Cool stuff, cool people.

7. A nearby lake is calling my name, but I don’t want to catch a cold the first week I’m here. Maybe just a hike around the area on the weekend...if I could resist the temptation when I see the water.