Tomorrow, it will be five weeks since we landed here on the San Francisco Bay peninsula. We’ve gotten comfortable in our rental house with pictures on the walls and the catch-all, junk mail depository spot on the kitchen counter already established. All three kids are now enrolled in school, we’ve determined where to do our grocery shopping and get the oil changed in our cars. We’ve found a church we like, a favorite park to go to and Andrew is discovering favorite cycling routes. We’ve been to the beach twice, visited the zoo, science museums and various downtown San Francisco attractions. We’ve discovered we can walk to a coffee shop, a playground and a public library in twelve minutes, flat, from our house. The weather here, even in early February, is generally good enough to do so on any given day of the week. By all intents and purposes, we are settled in.
And, for me, the loneliness is just starting to emerge.
When Bozeman friends read this post they are likely to respond with some sort of “no duh.” I miss Montana.
What I don’t miss is seven months of winter, endless snow shoveling and getting the kids in and out of snow suits. I don’t miss pining for spring (summer) when flowers re-bloom and we can, once again, see the grass in the yard. Not that looking out onto a lawn covered in crystalline snow pack isn’t beautiful.
But I miss our church. I miss my friends. I miss my childbirth education program and what it provided the community. I miss my professional network of doulas and other childbirth educators who all shared a common goal of guiding women and their partners into and through the best birthing experiences possible. I miss lunch at Janet’s house and dinner at the Tadvicks. I miss the friendly secretaries at Emily Dickinson Elementary School and running into people I know on Main Street. I miss Sola Cafe and The Cat Eye, too.
Even as I attempt to keep my game face on when around the kids, I echo their solemnity when thinking about that which we’ve left behind. Transition is hard, whether you’re seven or thirty-seven. But, I’m sure it will get better.