loss – Nomad's Land

Dear Readers,

It has been a year. One full year of Florida living. A year filled with sand everywhere, sunsets, tons of ice cream, unbelievable amounts of sweat, missing home, new friends, laughter, tears, and every conceivable emotion in between.

This year was a risk, an adventure, a “who am I and what am I capable of” kind of year.

Rewind back 18 months and you would find Chad and I in the middle of long conversations about what direction we wanted to point our future, about how much change and loss we could handle, and mainly about how to escape the snow.

There were endless lists of “pros and cons” that we reviewed each time, trying to weigh our options and make a logical decision.

But the more we circled the topic, we eventually realized that we could circle the topic forever. There was no right answer. Any decision we made would involve loss, but also, positive gain.

We finally agreed that we should stop wondering and start doing.

I laced up my shoes by the light of my phone flashlight. I recently discovered that if I don’t turn on any lights, I’m able to sneak out of the house for a morning run without waking our lightest sleeper, Avery.

I quickly opened the badly in need of WD40 door and stepped out into the early morning. The humidity immediately hugged me, as if I was covered in a blanket.

The neighborhood was quiet, and the houses themselves took on the personas of sleepy giants. After I completed my usual gaze at the stars, I slowly walked out the front gate.

Once I was through the gate, I began my slow shuffle. My body groaned and my brain tried to warn me that this was not what it had hoped for this morning.

I watched the first glow of morning light tint the sky while I waited for my heart to catch up with the self-inflicted increased oxygen demands. Breathless, I reflected on a podcast I recently listened to called, “The Happiness Lab.”

Shout out to my lifelong friend, Regina, for getting me hooked on this podcast.

The podcast is narrated by Dr. Laurie Santos, a psychology professor from Yale. The topic is obviously, happiness. The episode I recently listened to talked about how sometimes… often, your brain thinks you can achieve happiness by doing things that won’t cultivate happiness: sleeping in late, skipping a workout, watching 8 hours of TV, scrolling endlessly through social media, wealth.

She argues that happiness takes work. It is not a state you can reach and stay at forever, nor can you buy it. And sometimes, oftentimes, it is putting in tough work that doesn’t feel fun that will lead to an end result of happiness.

I knew this was true from a running perspective. I am not a fan of waking up at 6 to get a run in, nor am I usually a fan of running while I’m doing it. But the endorphins I get at the end, or the feeling of finishing a long run… those make it worth it.

While I continued to let my brain ruminate on the topic, I watched as the sun rays broke through the humid atmosphere of Florida. The sun rising here looks exactly like the pictures 5 year olds draw of the sun; the big ball with rays of light streaming out.

"sn" by a — How sunrises look. Also, what my family looks like.

I was struck by the beauty of the sunrise. A moment I would have easily missed had I listened to my brain and slept in.

I shuffled on, realizing that this entire year has been reflective of the fact that happiness is something to be worked for.

Selling our Minnesota home was a lot of work, saying goodbye to my family was a wrenchingly* hard decision, being outgoing and making friends in a new state was not within my comfort zone, etc.

BUT, the people we’ve met here have been so gracious, kind, and welcoming. Southern charm, I guess you would call it. We love being minutes away from Chad’s parents and grandparents for 5 months of the year.

We have enjoyed the ability to get outside every day in a t-shirt and shorts, no matter what month of the year it is. We love our family swims after dinner, the way that sunsets and rises involve a lot of pink and purple, the summer storms, and the chance to be on an adventure, together.

What I learned from this year is that we are never stuck. Nothing is holding us captive in one situation or another. Change is always possible. And sometimes the best way forward is to simply start moving forward.

Perhaps my favorite part of this whole year has been rediscovering my love for writing. I have loved reading all of your comments and feeling connected by words. Thank you for being the best bunch of fans.

Love to all,

Laura

*I’m aware that “wrenchingly” is not a word, but you know what I meant and it sounds right.

Feels Like: Home

I took in the view of the Minneapolis skyline and felt a heaviness in my chest that I didn’t anticipate. Maybe it was my soul reminding me how badly I had wanted to come home to say goodbye to my grandma before she passed.

Maybe it was the huge relief of knowing I would finally get to see “my people”- the ones who raised me, who grew with me, who know me best. Or maybe it was just the fact that I had a massive migraine after a tantrum ridden flight and an hour long wait for our rental car.

Regardless, there we were, driving through Minneapolis. Chad, cheerfully trying to chat me up, and our backseat passengers voicing their displeasure in this long day of travel.

It had been 9 months since we were in Minnesota as a family, 4 months since I had snuck up by myself for a quick 24 hour trip for a friends birthday.

The hotel we were staying at was just 5 minutes from our old house, so it goes without saying that I insisted we must drive past our old house at a creepily slow pace.

The tears started splattering when we turned onto our block and passed the park I spent countless hours at- teaching the girls how to climb up to the slides, pushing them on the swings until their sweet blue eyes got heavy, toddling around as a new family of 4.

I remember going down the slide when I was nine months pregnant with Alice hoping it would put me into labor. I remember taking Avery to the park with Alice snug in the baby carrier when she was just 3 days old.

When we passed our old house, I was basically a nut case, sobbing, while Avery and Alice were confused about why Mommy could be crying. Wasn’t that their job?

When we drove down to Florida last August, I listened to one of my favorite books on Audible, “Maybe You Should Talk to Someone.” In the book, the author highlights the relationship of change and loss.

“As a therapist, I know a lot about pain, about the ways in which pain is tied to loss. But I also know something less commonly understood: that change and loss travel together. We can’t have change without loss, which is why so often people say they want change but nonetheless stay exactly the same.”
Lori Gottlieb

And so, in the front seat of a rental car, stuffed with my ~~mostly~~ favorite people, I grieved the loss produced by a change we purposefully made almost a year ago. A change that, yes, has produced so much good; but a change that, yes, has also produced loss.

Us Minnesotan’s like to go “Up Nort” (north), to spend time at the lake each summer. My Dad’s side of the family has the tradition of spending a week each July together at a lakeside resort.

Our family vacations in the best possible way: very few organized activities, schedules that run more on how we feel than by what time it is, high quality junk food, a rotation of lounging by the pool and the lake, and late nights playing poker or mafia.

Usually we start a puzzle at some point and in prior years, we would finish it. Lately we’ve given up 1/4th of the way through. This year we stuck to a 25 piece Winnie the Pooh puzzle. Avery and Alice finished it in 15 minutes. We were all relieved.

Showers are not required, nor are outfit changes. If you’re wanting to clean up a bit, you can always turn your shirt inside out. Before guests come, we do try to put deodorant on and brush our 4 front teeth.

This was our first year without G-Dizz (or as normal families may call their elder, Grandma).

Her absence was palpable. Her comfy chair sat empty, and we half expected a snarky comment to come from that direction at any time. We missed her shriek during poker games whenever she was upset by losing. We missed her classy figure, sitting poolside while wearing her zebra print swim suit, sipping a beer. Mostly, we missed her in all the normal moments that we couldn’t share together.

Have you ever noticed the beauty of familiar things? Like how the first time you listen to a song you might hate it, but by the tenth time you hear it, it might be your favorite song? Or how you can travel the world, but still find home to be your favorite place to be?

For me, it is birch trees, lakes, cool morning weather, and fireplaces. No matter how far I go, or where I end up living, these things will always stick out to me as the most comforting, beautiful things.

And now, we are back home… at our Florida home. I’m soaking in sleeping in my own bed, with my favorite pillows, wearing my faithful polka dot bathrobe that has been with me for the past 6 years.

I had my weekly visit with Donna, the slightly monotone checkout lady at Target (monotone people unite). I had my weekly wave with deli meat man (name unknown) who’s wife has MS.

The girls are happy to be reunited with their toys, and Chad is happy to be reunited with his golf course.

This year has been full of change and loss. Beauty and pain have coexisted. But Florida is sure beginning to feel like home, in the best possible way.

With that said, I find it fitting to announce that we are beginning to house hunt down here in Florida and plan to stay while.

Wishing you all the courage to make scary changes, the people to love you through it all, and the beauty that comes with the change.

I hope you never forget the people, places, and things that have molded you into who you are today.

Above all, I hope you soak in the “normal moments” with those you love.

Cheers,

Laura