A Set-back

the view from our house

We've almost been in Utah for four years. Four years! I'm proud to say I've come a long way since that bitter, heart-sick beginning. I was so miserable, so broken, so catastrophically disappointed at my fate. The mountains made me feel claustrophobic, all the Mormons made me feel claustrophobic, all those blue and white Cougars made me feel claustrophobic. The traffic and fry sauce and designer moms and family reunions and layered Ts and born here-raised here neighbors made me want to scream. I pined daily for our Virginia.

This adjustment of attitude and perspective and gut was not easy to come by. I had to work for it, fight for it, serve and befriend it. I had to let go of Virginia and eventually let all comparisons and memories wash over and leave me like an old lover. I had to start embracing what was good about the here and now. As a family, we took to the great outdoors like locals. We even bought a dog to come with us, it seemed like the right thing to do. We made friends. We ate out and found some favorites. We threw our kids into the community--preschool, dance, soccer, school. We counted our blessings: a dream job, affordable housing, not Nebraska.

And eventually, without really even being aware of it, my stubborn heels were finding a place in this dry, dessert soil. I didn't even think about Virginia anymore, well, not as often. And I began to make plans for my future self and the setting included mountains and a church house on every corner and yes, fry sauce. My mind shifted from temporary to something of more permanence, and it didn't frighten or throw me into an abyss of despair. Progress.

And then two weeks ago we ran into a colleague of Mark's at a party. This colleague of Mark's is a very impressive person. He's so good at what he does, that he splits his time between BYU and Oxford. Oxford for heaven's sake. He kind of comes and goes as he pleases. Anyway, four years ago this same colleague lent me an emotional shoulder to cry and complain on when I was bemoaning my fate of becoming a Provonian. He sympathized and encouraged. Well, two weeks ago he asked me how I felt about it now, if I was still impossibly wretched. I told him, with head held high, that I had done the impossible: I was content where I was: Provo had grown on me. His reaction surprised me. He told me not to give up, not to settle, not to let Provo get under my skin, not to get too comfortable. What?!!! In a matter of minutes, four years of white-knuckle, soul-changing work began to unravel. That's right, I thought to myself. I don't want to be here. There's a whole world out there. I've got to get out. Out!

And so I've been confused. Am I giving up, giving in by letting my heart attach itself to this crazy town, or am I being adult, finding contentment with that which the Lord has given me? Should I fight for peace and contentment, or fight to escape? The more I stew about this, the more I think that maybe that brilliant colleague of Mark's is all wrong. Maybe I need to settle and get comfortable, live like I will always be here, and then if we do ever end up somewhere else, I will not have wasted these years wishing on an impossible and reckless star. For now though, I'm going to go enjoy a slice of Magelby's chocolate cake.... it is just down the road....