I've thought about writing an "I moved to Michigan" entry for the last 6 months. You know: the blog post where I tell you why I moved here and what it's like. But I cannot. Not yet, anyways. Some things are only revealed in hindsight. Truth is, most days I have no idea what I'm doing here.
So here's what I want to say, instead: I miss California like a person misses air while flailing underwater. Yeah, it's like that. Sure, I miss the water and the land. But what I really miss--miss so hard that sometimes I have to distract myself for fear of heart-collapse--are the rituals of relationship that made California my home. Like trotting around Lake Merritt with Mike. Drinking coffee and farmers marketing on Lake Shore with Joy. Collaging with Alicia. Alameda sidewalk anywhere with Mama Marjorie. Laughing over yummy food--particularly at the Mixing Bowl on Telegraph--with Wade. I could go on and on.
Has me thinking.
This week we begin a series in our congregation about (infa)structural shifting. We are going to be focusing our worship and study on what happens when mass transition sets in, both for communities and instutions. Remember how I said "most days I have no idea what I'm doing here"? Well, it seems that a few our my religious ancestors felt similar stuff when in captivity or exile or bondage. (Not that I'm in any of those things, but I certainly feel like a stranger in a strange land which has biblical precedent). Last week Tom Ott (my colleague and homey) said "every time the Israelites found themselves in transition or crisis they would recite their history." So this emphasis on recalling history feels both professionally and personally profound to me, at the moment.
When I recall history, I know nothing of home or consistent revelation. I know love in and through people. I know the words and deeds of those who have kept me alive (more than once or twice). They are my home. They are my life. And that's what I miss.
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You know, I've been aching for the Midwest for the last 6 months. Everyday. Homesickness. I've missed the end of Winter, the glory of Spring, the lush Summer, and now the beginning of Fall. I miss the people. The people I know to be humble and polite, often too silent.
I kind of wish we could just swippity-swap locations.
When I left IA it was with a conflicted heart. I knew I needed to grow in ways that I couldn't at home. But, I also knew that the reason I had to leave home to grow was because so many of my peers had left, so many people have left, and I would be one more. One more reason the Midwest can be a hard place to be.
I had dreams of a bunch of Grinnell grads moving to a small town somewhere in IA and building a new economy, Utopian, early 20s dreams. It didn't happen. Everyone saw attractive opportunities outside the state, mostly outside the region.
I can't be anything but thankful to the Bay Area for shaking ME up, but it's not home, and I want home.
I don't know how to reconcile my faith with the impulse to be where the environment sits right with me. Is it some tribal thing where I've decided I am one thing and NOT the other? How does THAT jive with a wandering Jesus who made family as he went out of who was there, who left Bethlehem and didn't look back? A Jesus who challenged rigid identities? I don't know. I don't know if I'll figure it out.
This is just a little story from the other side of the coastal/landlocked divide.
-EB
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