I still can’t believe we moved to Georgia. And yet, my life here already feels like a comfy pair of worn-in sweats.
Despite the four inches of rain in under 24 hours, the thigh-sized branches, the bear-hug-wide tree that fell, and hearing my first tornado siren—the weather feels like a fun novelty. Like the grocery store Aldi’s or the chicken place Zaxby’s. These local newities are like chocolate sauce and sprinkles at an ice cream place: definite bonus features.
Now that I’m apparently an expert in cross-country moving, I’d like to formally go on record and challenge something I’ve heard: “Moving doesn’t help you escape your problems.” I disagree. It can.
I liken it to the time I moved across the state from eastern Washington and no longer had to deal with some of the older poker players I used to deal cards to. The little annoyances, personality clashes, and drama? When I quit—poof—gone. Sometimes removing yourself is the solution.
Here, I continue to have closeness in the relationships that matter. And the others—the ones that have naturally quieted or ended—have given me some much-needed mind space back.
I read this sentiment the other day:
“Normalize not liking people without conflict. There’s nothing wrong, you’re just not my fit.”
And wow—what a relief that is.
I’m nose-deep in the book Ugly Beautiful—so much so that I keep tripping over things because I can’t put it down. Someone recommended it to me, and I can see why. The main character is a writer, and the story begins with the mystery of what happened to his wife—she was on the phone with him just a mile from home and never made it. The mini twists are perfectly timed: he stumbles across his wife’s old journalistic articles he didn’t even know she’d written, and the everyone-knows-everyone island where he’s taken a retreat to write is the perfect backdrop for unraveling tension. I have a theory about what’s going on, but the sheriff’s latest reveal has me doubting everything.
I liken this kind of book to a really good meal you binge on until you feel sick. I have no off switch. With a hundred pages to go, Evelyn in bed, and nothing pressing after I finish writing, I’m diving in and not coming back up for air until the final firework fuse is lit and kaboomed.
Dang it—I have to put the chickens we’re babysitting back in their coop first.
Lastly, a little about the job. A while back my therapist friend forwarded me a great article from Mark Manson’s newsletter, and I liked the perspective and format so much I subscribed. Every couple of weeks, I read the new ideas that land in my inbox. Today’s edition included job opportunities—one of which had my psyche’s mouse sprinting 60 mph on its squeaky little wheel after reading the required skill set that perfectly matched my own. That doesn’t happen often. So, for the next hour, I put my best foot forward in an email.
I like having nothing to lose and everything to gain. If I don’t get it, nothing changes. But if I do, it’ll only be because it fits seamlessly into my life—so that nothing I already love or prioritize has to shift. That’s the hope.
Alrighty, I gotta forge out into the dark and the rain. A homesteader’s life waits for no one.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 