The Sword and the Pillbug

Adventuring can be kind of a lot of work.

At some point in the last 23 years of therapy I learned to look at the changes in life as Adventures.

I often say “Adventure” with gritted teeth and white knuckles, because this fearful girl does not love change.

I’m a hunker-down-at-home-body. A give-me-a-movie-and-some-knitting-body. Yes, I love people and being with them, but home is where my heart longs to be. Relationships and places other than home are where risk comes in, where anxiety flings open the door. For me, risk-taking in the extreme is backing out of the driveway beFORE I fasten my seatbelt. Whew! Life On The Edge!

So while this Adventure, this Opportunity, to move back to Portland, Oregon with my daughter and daughter-in-law was planned and needed and yes, even fun, it carries Risk. It brings not only the towering green of evergreens and an abundance of roses and other floral delights in the gardens, but rain and a 90% chance of depression.

Our house is lovely. Our garden is lovely. Our neighborhood is lovely. We have coffee shops and restaurants and stores within walking distance. A block away is a beautiful park with evergreens and walking trails. It’s idyllic, really.

But it’s not the Same.

It’s not the neighborhood and the people and the house I was used to. I have to figure out a whole new routine for where to keep the pets’ food and my ever-increasing pile of pill bottles. I’m not sure yet where the light falls to put that one plant I’m always trying to keep alive. It’s not my kitchen, it’s OUR kitchen, so I can’t put things where I think they should go. I can’t crowd the fridge with all the vegetables I buy with really good intentions.

It’s wonderful, but it’s different. Adjusting takes time.

My body often is at the mercy of this frenemy of mine, Fibromyalgia. It can be quite a dictator, telling me “Nope! You only think you’re going to do that today!” And after months of a flurry of activity to get my #smallnottinyhouse packed and ready to sell, Fibromyalgia said “Hah! You only think you’re going to get settled and go through your boxes and organize your far-too-much stuff!”

And then alllll the hard things seem like they’ll last forever, and my mood goes downhill.

“I’ll never make new friends.” “I’ll never find places to belong.” “What if I don’t like them?” “What if they don’t like me?” It’s like walking into kindergarten again–I’m a short, round, 5-year-old, and everyone else has the power.

I suppose it should be depressing to feel like you’re the lamb being led to the slaughter.

I would like to be the kind of person who sweeps into the new adventure brandishing my sword, ready to take on all foes, but in reality I’m more of a roly-poly bug–the pillbug that when approached folds up into a ball in the safety of its body armor and hides.

Calling these change-points in my life Adventures serves to remind me that I get to choose whether to brandish my sword or stop-drop-and-roll as I enter a new phase of what feels like a pretty long life.

I know time will pass, emotions are temporary, and I will get bored of talking to myself and the pets, and want to go out among the living.

But maybe just one more cup of tea and a few more rows of knitting before I polish my sword and prepare to go out…