If the Spirit Moves You
When we have a “moving experience,” it usually means we are enriched by it in some way — affected emotionally, even pulled to a place where new vistas open up for us. The actual experience of moving, however, is usually different: especially when it’s a whole family doing the re-locating, there is inevitably a feeling of loss mixed in with an anticipation of new opportunities and adventures.
Since my husband was named one of three nominees to become Bishop of New Hampshire, earlier this spring, we have been living with the prospect (which is different from the certainty) of a move in our future. In that we just got through a week of “Meet and Greet” events at different locations around the state, the possibility is more palpable. During the last of the three evening sessions, someone even directed a question to me: he wanted to know how I would feel about uprooting our family in the event that my husband is in fact elected to the position.
This was a pregnant moment all right, mostly because I had by then grown accustomed to being the bystander spouse as my husband responded, both thoughtfully and warmly, to all kinds of inquiries from the assembled faithful. Everyone looked at me expectantly, and I stood up slowly, with a swirl of thoughts and memories in mind.
We last moved as a family just over a decade ago, and even though the change was just from one New England college town to another in a neighboring state, the whole thing was a very big deal. We had three small children then, ages eight and six and two. Oh, and a dog too. The move was definitely hardest on me and on our eight year old son because we had the greatest number of attachments to our town, school, and neighborhood.
My husband was leaving behind an entire congregation, but he was also excited about starting with a new, larger group of parishioners. He expected this kind of experience when he began his life as a priest. In addition, his deep Episcopalian faith gave him confidence that he would find people who pray with the same Book of Common Prayer just about wherever he goes. In addition, he went through a few moves in his childhood – the biggest one from the Midwest to the East – and he knew that while they felt big at the time, they were survive-able.
For me, it’s different: the friendships that mean most to me have all taken time to develop, in the way of fruit ripening on the vine. Transplanting means up-rooting first, and that has not been an activity on my list of favorite things to do.
Our son was in the heart of elementary school, and his sister not far behind, when we left our old town. Friends of ours gave them a wonderful send-off party that summer, and the pictures we have from that day show lots of kids running around, occasionally pausing to face the camera with arms entwined. I loved my book group, my neighbors, and the fields on campus where I walked our dog.
As these things usually unfold, we had quite a lot of back-and-forth trips in the first few years after the move. We even spent a month of one summer renting a house in our old town, so that the kids could attend a day camp there and be with some of their old pack again. It wasn’t the same, of course, but it helped ease the transition. Trips back are only occasional now, although the strongest of the friendships still hold. This past winter, when our son was on the West Coast for a college internship, he picked up again with his best buddy from those early years. This, to me, is a kind of fulfillment that matters most in life
The truth is, I had a hard time completely letting go. In retrospect, I realize that this must have had something to do with the nature of my own childhood. The last of five children, I grew up in a place that had family history. My parents hadn’t always lived there, but almost. My grandparents originally owned the land, and my father settled in with his young family for all of the years stretching ahead. There would be no moving; the train would take him back and forth to his mostly unchanging work. My best friend throughout my school years always lived right across the street. Later, when both of us went off to college and then to various jobs and eventually marriage, there was no question but that we would remain linked forever. On my wedding day, it was important that most of our neighbors be invited, and they simply walked up the driveway to attend.
When I last saw the house – unlived in these days — where I grew up, it looked almost as if it could melt into the field where it sits. It’s tired, no doubt, from having provided so much stability to one family over the course of 60 years.
So when I started to answer the question that the man posed to me last week, I heard myself saying, “I’m not sure yet what I think about moving.” After mentioning some aspects of the full life I have where we live now, I rallied and added that I am indeed looking forward to supporting my husband as he responds to the call that may come. People were especially glad to hear that last part.
The son who was just two during our last move is now thirteen; this time around, he and I would likely experience the pulling up of roots the most. We just need to make sure that we could send them down into the earth, deep again, in a promising place.
But this is all putting the cart before the horse. For now, there’s living right where we are.
Lovely, Polly! I am thinking of you this week — in the “cloud of unknowing” So touching about your own family, your friends, your attachments. So much of life is about letting go. But aren’t we glad for what we’ve hung on to! Our friendship is just that kind of gladness.
Christine
What I want to know is, why weren’t some of US asked how WE would feel about your family moving?! But seriously, Polly, this is a lovely piece on a very tender topic….
Polly, this makes me so sad, but I admire your strength and honesty about the whole thing. I’ve been trying not to think about you and Rob leaving because I can’t really imagine it and that’s how I deal with things. I know you will be fine no matter what happens – as you wrote – you’ve done it before and you survived – even thrived. Life goes on. It changes, but that’s not a bad thing. Still, I don’t want you to go.
Polly, if this helps any, that time we had in Storrs will always remain with me, even though we had to move away with the same feelings of regret at right about the same time. If you provide other folks with the same open house, warm hospitality, and honest friendship that you did to Julia and I, then wherever you are, there will be loving home from which, however far one moves, one will never be truly separated.
Polly — This really resonated with me. As someone who spent 12 years going through Amherst schools, I still feel deep ties to the Pioneer Valley and all those there who shaped and encouraged me to become the person I am now — including you and yours. I’m thankful for home and a sense of belonging that come from years spent in one place, where you can benefit from the luxury of building and strengthening relationships over a long time. Thank you for the reminder of the things we experience as children that make us stable, well-rounded adults.
I can appreciate the unease and the uncertainty that come with moving to a new place (or even the prospect of moving to a new place!). But I’ve lived in Indonesia for two years, and I’m preparing for another two trans-Pacific moves within the next year. After that, who knows, but the career I’ve chosen means moving may be my only constant.
My deep roots in Western Massachusetts and my love for my family, my community, my friends, my relationships — my home — has enabled me to identify people, jobs, dreams, and opportunities to establish myself in other places. Instead of tying me down to a specific place, my roots have given me the inspiration and the curiosity to find out what things are like in other places. I want to share with others the best things about my hometown and my country, be it autumn leaves, crisp breezes, baseball games, or apple pie. And I want to learn from my new neighbors about what makes the places they live wonderful and special.
Moves aren’t easy. The prospects of moves aren’t easy. But I have no doubt that if the need arises, you and your family will continue to experience exciting adventures and wonderful opportunities no matter where your Missions lead. Best of luck to you, Rob, and your family!
Polly, this is a beautiful piece. I feel your pain. I moved around a lot as a young child, but as an adult (now with kids!) , we haven’t moved out of the Pioneer Valley in close to 15 years. Leaving this special place would be heartbreaking for me. I like that you’ve taken the time to acknowledge those feelings and are honest about the fact that you have to “rally” around the idea of moving. That’s what I love about your writing–it’s so honest and also in the “now.” Thank you so much for sharing! I wish you and your family luck, and peace, and know that you’ll make perfect sense (and ultimately joy) out of whatever happens.
Polly, I’ve been following your blog for a couple of months now. I originally signed on because of a couple of similarities in our situations: a) my husband is an Episcopal priest and b) when I met him I was almost a complete stranger to organized religion. Now, I find we have one more thing in common – the bishop search process. My husband was consecrated as the Bishop of Nebraska last October, so the search process, and the liminal space our family occupied during that time, are still fresh in my mind. The move was difficult, as we tore up many roots and left our two children in college in New York, but also life-giving in the end (I actually wrote about it a bit in my own blog, on my website above). But the process and time leading up to the election day were especially hard, filled as they were with so many “what ifs” for all of us. We knew we should be preparing for a possible move, but we knew we should also be preparing for a “no” and the continuation of our life in Warwick. It was unsettling, to say the least, and I send good thoughts to you and your family as you go through it. Thanks for your candid blogs, especially this one. Keep writing!
This is a particularly poignant essay, Polly, and thought-provoking. I remember moves in my own family that were desired and undesired. I am glad for your gifts of sending down roots and making lasting connections — those gifts will stand you in good stead wherever you live. For now, though, we wait and watch and wonder as the election date approaches.