Sometimes I send myself emails before I fall asleep. Or I'll ask my night owl husband to text me. Things I want to remember or think about or write about the next day. "Rob," I'll mumble sleepily, "text me and say 'ear piercing, sleeping on opposite side for back scratches, and new bed.'" It's probably obvious that the next day I sometimes struggle to put the pieces together, but I figure it's worth a try.

This morning I woke up to a relatively vague, but perfectly clear thought that's been on my mind all week. You can't force anything.

Because it's true. Whatever it is, you can't force it. You can do your best and you can wish and dream and pray, but friendships and book deals and epiphanies don't always just fall out of the sky. And sometimes, as much as you might want or need something to be immediate, things can take time. Even letting go can be a process.

Simple as that. And, simultaneously, totally complicated.

This post is in response to the following prompt: "Tell me about a time something dawned on you, a realization, words came together or simply you saw a lightning bolt on a mountain." (From Old Friend from Far Away, page 66.) If you write a response of your own, please share a link below in the comments! For a list of some previous prompt, you can check out this post (or just search the Old Friend from Far Away category below).

I was never someone who thought about "blogging breaks." I just blogged, and over time it went from being a new hobby to a little money-making side project, until last year when it became my "full-time" job (I say "full-time" with quotations because while I feel like I've had some success, there are still days where I have a hell of a lot of time on my hands and think, "okay, what am I doing?"). Even when I would take a vacation, I missed it. My laptop was always with me, ready to be opened and my camera was on my shoulder, ready to shoot; ready to document and share and generally be on top of things.

So it's been a few weeks of less posting around here and I feel a lot of pressure. From whom, I don't know. But I have anxiety and routines are important for me, so it has been extremely difficult to keep it together and still feel self-employed during this transition.

I'm writing this because I guess I didn't realize until a few days ago how rough August has been for me. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to believe the moving company's estimator who came to our apartment in Minneapolis and said he didn't think our stuff would take longer than five days to catch up with us in Charlotte--a declaration that made the three weeks it has actually taken feel to me like several months. (I say this like our stuff is finally moved in, and not sitting on a broken-down truck somewhere in North Carolina as I write this.)

And then things in your personal life crumble a little and suddenly you wonder what's happening to you. It's my story, but it's not, so the details really aren't even mine to tell; and life isn't always sunshine and rainbows even though you never wanted to be the blogger who wrote the ambiguous post declaring that life is more than sunshine and rainbows, but here you are telling people about the clouds overhead.

All of this is to say that I'm still here, even if you aren't hearing from me that much right now. I'm just taking my time, even though it feels ridiculous to be so busy and overwhelmed when your job is barely demanding. Rob and I will actually get our stuff and I'll sit at my desk and regain a little bit of control over my day. Our friends will visit and some weekends we'll drive to Roanoke and Richmond and DC or Charlottesville and hug the people we love and one day we'll look back on that terrible move and the really hard August, hopefully with a smile.

But until then, I would just really love to have a chair.

Yesterday evening I dropped Rob off at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport to catch a flight to Charlotte because today is his first day on the job at his new project. On my quick drive home, I was sort of overwhelmed with a mix of pride and nostalgia.

I thought about how smart and successful that husband of mine is, and how proud I am of him every day. And then I thought about those first few months of long(er) distance, when we went from Roanoke to DC every weekend to Virginia to Minnesota once or twice a month. From being within driving distance to booking a flight and requesting a day off from work. There were restaurants and coffee shops we visited in parts of town that we didn't recognize, and then I moved and less than a year later they became places in our favorite neighborhoods, where the bartender wonders where we've been if we skip a Saturday lunch one week. There are still so many new things to discover here, but we have managed to find a place to belong. 

We have come a long way since that weekend in January of last year when Rob went to Minneapolis to look at apartments. And yet last night, alone in our home, I started to feel a little sad. I am determined to make the most over these days that I have to myself--going to bed early, spending time with friends, and watching as much Gossip Girl as humanly possible. Transitions often throw me for a loop, but this one is so exciting, and I don't want to wish it away yet, even if I have to muddle through some melancholy to get there.

A new city, new friends (and old friends!), a new apartment, new adventures. I am so excited to get to Charlotte, but I will forever be thankful that we took a chance on Minneapolis.

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;


Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,


And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.


I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

— Robert Frost