This week we’re moving…again. It’s stressful for all the normal reasons but recently we got a surprise from our landlord that has made it particularly tense around here. I’ll be holding my breath through Saturday when we’re in the new place. Needless to say I haven’t been in the best of moods of late. My default setting, when it comes to times of stress, is to question every decision. Of course, the biggest question is always-why are we here anyway?
I was looking through old posts to put up today because I just don’t have much to say that’s nice enough for print this week. I came across the following post almost immediately and it was the perfect reminder that in the end this will all be worth it. My town is still my town, even if my housing choices remain questionable. The following is the first post I ever wrote for the now defunct Silicon Valley/New Jersey Moms Blog. I’d prefer you read this and think this is how I’m feeling today, rather than see what I’m actually doing, which isn’t pretty.
I Really Get to Live Here?
A few days ago I was walking my son home from preschool and I had one of those moments where I was struck by my own life.
Here I was, pushing a toddler in a stroller down slate sidewalks and listening to my preschooler prattle on about how much he loved his new school. The weather was amazing. It was one of those perfect fall days where the sun is hot but the air is cool. We were all in jeans and flip-flops-my favorite combination. We walked past beautiful Victorian homes with fancy wrap around porches. We could hear the train whistle in the air. All I could think was, really, this is where I get to live?
I used to dream my life would be this way. Literally, I dreamt about walking my kids to school. I dreamt about living in a town where I could knock out every day errands on foot.
I never thought I would find this place. I thought towns with train stations and slate sidewalks, existed only in New England towns-on television. I sometimes worried, if these places did exist, they would be too small to satisfy my fast-paced personality. I had no idea I could move to New Jersey to find a small town that was big enough to fit me.
It is easy to focus on the frustrations of life. It is easy to worry about property taxes and the state of our school systems. These are legitimate concerns and ones that certainly plague the Garden State. It is easy to see the empty storefronts and remember the world is still struggling. It is certainly easy, in my quaint little town, to complain about how the post office doesn’t open at a reasonable hour. I have kicked and screamed about this before.
It is easy to see what is wrong.
But some days, when the breeze blows just right and you can barely hear the train over the sounds of happy student giggles, it is easy to see what is right.
