the surreality of our life

Malcolm at almost 16 weeks!

Well, hello. It’s been a while. I thought I’d just jump in without any sort of plan for the blog. Just writing.

And here’s what I’ve been wondering lately…

Did it ever really happen?!

Did we really live on an island?

I know we did. I have evidence. So much happened in those ten months. Yet, it all feels like someone else’s life. It feels so far away and untouchable. I try to mentally place myself back in Friday Harbor and everything clouds over like a dream.

We’ve been in Chicago now for almost three months. When we first arrived it all felt strangely normal. Strange because a sudden life change and move cross country with an infant shouldn’t feel so normal. Right? But we know this place. We’ve lived here before. Familiarity welcomed us home.

But the last few days all I’ve been thinking about is how different we are now than when we last lived here. We’re not the same people. We’ve come so far and gone through so much. This thinking leads me down a path of memories and my brain has a hard time sorting them out in a way that it all makes sense. How did we go from Chicago to LA to Chicago to Friday Harbor to Chicago? It’s not the how that matters but that we did. And that where are now is here. Chicago. Live in the now. Yes? This is my challenge.

Yesterday I went for a run through my neighborhood (the first run without the jogging stroller as Grammy Pammie was babysitting Malcolm) and I couldn’t help but contrast the setting with San Juan Island and L.A.

Here I was running through city streets and stoplights. There isn’t even a single stop light on San Juan Island.

Here the terrain is flat. Flat. Flat. Flat. In L.A. and on San Juan Island there are hills. Hills. Hills. Hills. I miss those.

Here I was surrounded by humanity. On SJI, I was surrounded by nature.

Here the architecture is all the same (mostly)… brick. Brick. Brick. Running in I loved seeing the exciting and different architecture of the homes from Spanish casitas to mid-century modern masterpieces.

While running I travel back to L.A. on my memories and then Friday Harbor. And I’m suddenly sad. Missing it. Missing both worlds. Then remembering how when we moved to L.A. we missed Chicago. So much. For three years. It really took three years to love L.A. And then we fell hard.

So what?

Am I doomed to this awkward three-year transition period? Perhaps. But hopefully not.

Will we always miss something about where we used to be? Most likely yes. But isn’t that a good thing? That we have something to miss only tells us that we’ve lived some amazing adventures and have been happy.

I feel so grateful to have lived for those ten months in Friday Harbor. An experience I truly never would have experienced had our lives not taken an unexpected turn. Living there was a gift. Experiencing the place, the community, the people… I can’t say enough.

Yet…

In keeping with the LOST comparisons, I don’t go as far as Jack to say “We never should have left the island!” But I do wonder what life would be like had we stayed. When I mentally place myself there now… as in What would it be like if we were still living there? The answer is that it would be hard. Bob would most likely be commuting every week again. Malcolm would have no relationship with his grandparents. I would be missing my family terribly.

So being in Chicago is the right place to be. For who we are today. The here and now.

And man, we love being here. See? You probably didn’t expect that. This is what we have a hard time reconciling. How can we love being here and be happy here when we also miss there? And then? Both L.A. and Friday Harbor? Two places that couldn’t be more different.

It’s maddening.

Or maybe it’s just life.

Our life. That has always had a surreal bent to it.

Today Malcolm and I went to a mama and yoga baby class in the neighborhood (walking distance). To our right was a mom and her seven-week old son. To our left was a mom and her eight-week old son. I looked at these little babies and started to cry. Because it’s already gone so fast. He’s already 16 weeks. Today. That’s four whole months! Malcolm at that tiny 8-week size seems so long ago. I adore every stage, but miss each one as it inevitably disappears.

Even Malcolm’s birth seems surreal. I think about that and wonder, Did THAT really happen?! I miss it. I miss being pregnant. I miss giving birth (did I really just write that?!) And how is that? Why is that the past seems surreal and I romanticize even the most painful moments?

Looking for a way to reconcile it all. Again, maybe that’s impossible.

Maybe that’s just life.

Thoughts?