My life now

I'm watching the Olympics, soaking up the sunny clear day through our floor to ceiling living room windows, next to my sweet pupper, with french roast coffee nearby. I'm home. And I love the Olympics.

It's been a wild ride these past few weeks, and while I'm one person that really dislikes the way that the word "blessed" is used with so much frequency in some circles (mostly because I've yet to comprehend - or perhaps disagree with? - what most people mean when they use it), I do feel that God has been intensely present in the happenings of the last few weeks.

Only a journey of six failed offers could have brought us to this condo. Mainly because we weren't looking at condos. And then we weren't looking at condos that weren't within walking distance of the university where I'll begin working and studying in a few short weeks. But here we are, in a top-floor condo with a rather pleasant view of trees, vaulted ceilings, shared walls and floor, and a 45 minute bus commute. We knew as we were walking through offer after offer (during which our mantra was: "We want your house. Please take our money!") that after it was all over it would feel like a blip on the screen of life. But that's not to ignore that some of the days in the past few months have felt the longest of my life.Then, in one smooth week, we had a written contract getting what we believe to be a most amazing deal, my husband and I both had job offers of different kinds, and we closed and moved into our new home! One week! After house-hunting since March!

The day we moved out of the storage unit into the condo, 2 weeks ago, I felt like the delayed start we had been anticipating finally began. There have been some serious changes in our lives in the past few months. Resignation from a decade of preparing for, working at, and trying to finish well a major research project. Recovery from wrestling through the ins and outs of that kind of life (blogs for other days). Reflection on those years of investment and hoping and praying that we created more beauty than doing harm, both for the world we love and in our own beings.

And now what I feel most is a bubbling excitement to go back to school - to research, to learn, to be surrounded by academic purpose and intelligentsia. To be able to play with ideas, and have time to just think instead of daily feeling the need for practical production. I hope that with some time to think, I'll be able to process and put words to ideas and theories that have been simmering below the surface for a few years now. And I hope that those ideas emerge into making something beautiful.

I just finished and submitted a chapter to a book on language, borders and identities to be published in the UK next year. My first invited contribution. The hardest thing I've ever written. I had no idea that the feeling of living an uninspired life would make writing so hard, writer's block so real. I hope that it proves to be a valuable contribution to the edition. I sincerely hope the difficulty writing it is not indicative of what's to come. I'd hate to give less than my best. Call it my ever-present competitive spirit - although I've always known that I'm mostly competing with myself.

I've watched some amazing rowers competing in the Olympics that were products of my university-to-be. At first, it was just fun. But after watching dozens pull their way through the 2k and watching the blades glide over the water, I have to admit, I let my mind wander through the lands of what might have been.

I rowed for a year in undergrad. Just a year, but I loved it in a way that defies words, even all these years later. I mean I loved it. I can't explain to you the physical euphoria of strength, balance, grace, finesse of rowing with a crew if you've never experienced it for yourself. The power in the boat. The glide. The team as one. In one short year, my coach and I were looking at places for me to go to begin training for the next Olympics. There was a unique hope there that in walking away from (it's a long story) left a hole in my heart.

Some parts of life are like that. And I don't think that hole just needs to be filled up. Some holes in life should just be respectfully treasured as good in and of themselves. I love my life now. I love that hole. It's a part of who I am - a part of my identity.

But last night I began thinking - would, could, it be possible for me to row again? For the first time in my life, over a decade later, I'm actually in a place of life where I could do it. I doubt I'd ever be able to bench press the numbers I once did, but could maturity gain me a rowing prowess over the next five years that I didn't develop in that one?

Part of me says that was let go a long time ago. That my life now is something entirely different and good. That, realistically, there just isn't time.

But something else says that my life now, is exactly this. A chance to dream again.
Ahh...the Olympics. The thing that dreams are made of.