Settling in, settled down, dust settling, it's settled ....

My real estate agent, Gina, and I are going to meet up later today, eight months after I last saw her, when she helped us buy our house. Amazon sent us a package that that's intended for the former owners, and Gina's been kind about being a liaison for these transfers.

As we were setting up the meet-up plan, Gina asked how I liked it here, how I was settling in.

Answering that is a little complicated.

An appropriate answer has two key elements, for me. One is figuring out how to describe this feeling of being in suspended animation, and the other is honesty.

While I love being near my in-laws and living amid Southwestern beauty, I’m a river girl and the desert life leaves me lonely for the elms and maples and oaks of my youth. Poplars. Sycamores and weeping willows and catalpas. A tree to sit at the base of, lie and look through the leaves of, climb and swing from. Shade. Green. Breeze rustling.

While I love new experiences and the challenges of starting fresh, I so miss my hard-won friendships and the comfort zone of the neighborhood I lived the last 10 years in. I miss my troops. My fellow moms and I were past the point of needing to clean up for each others’ visits; we could get tipsy together and not feel shame the next day over what we might have said; they understood. They forgave, or celebrated the hilarious lapses.

I feel like, though I consciously made the decision to move here – spent years contemplating it, really, and months preparing – that I’m sleepwalking. I’m dreaming, and soon, I’ll wake up and be in my bed on my old street on a hill overlooking the New England valley now covered in snow. It still doesn’t feel real. Even as everyday names from There are slipping away from my totally different, now day-to-day world, I see their faces as if we’d passed on the street this morning. I mentally take note of traffic by thinking, I have to tell Kris about that! I wonder what Melissa would say to ….. and then, I remember. I’m not part of their daily world.

Social media might contribute to this sense of confusion. I do see their faces, daily, on Facebook, or Skype. We text, we call. We’re still sort of in touch. They’re 2,087 miles away, but I know what they had for dinner last night. It’s a bit surreal.

I wouldn’t trade this sepia world for a pre-Facebook world, though. Having moved prior to the internet, I can attest to the cold-turkey method of disengaging with a community you used to live in. I used to write letters ….

The other element of giving Gina, and whoever else asks me that, an answer is honesty. I’m from the Midwest, and we are known for being upfront to the point of being blunt. I’d rather be honest in every situation; when people ask me how I am, I try to say. I’ve found that not many people want to know, actually, how I am. They’re being polite. They’re smiling, they appear to care, and they don’t care. They just don’t want to be rude. I’m learning to smile when I’m glum and answering, “Terrific! You?” when that’s not accurate at all. Defeat the oversharer in me and move on down the hallway.

Each instance like that is a little flower-killing, to me. I droop a little more when I realize people greet without caring, and I’m answering without truth. It’s not a social interaction or a team moment; it’s not bonding opportunity. It’s a reinforcement of how separate we are, how time and money trump contact. They’re in a rush; they don’t want messy details. I can understand that, and feel that way sometimes, and I don’t need to be everyone’s best friend. But it makes me feel lied to.

So how will I answer Gina? It might rely on the traffic of the moment – “I’m glad I arrived alive!” or the predictably but always unique, gorgeous sunset, or the NPR update of the moment. I might actually feel positive about my work contributions and have a positive attitude – a rarity more often than I’d like to admit.

I’m glad my husband’s happy here. I’m glad my kids are thriving in their current schools. I’m glad my mom is being looked after and feels she’s contributing to our household. I’m glad we finally have a dog. But the road is not easy – as I’m sure it’s not for Gina, either – and it remains to be seen where I will go on it.

Maybe that’s just it. I’m not settled. I’m on a journey; one that is currently in this town. I’m unsure of a destination, I haven’t put down roots. I don’t feel settled yet, and it might be awhile before I do.

I guess I do have my answer.