Eric and I recently ruled out moving to Charlottesville, VA. Long story short, for the third or fourth time, the massage school there fell through on a potential position. However, before I found out that his official in-person interview was cancelled, I had already begun to panic.
Would I like living in Charlottesville? A downtown made up of a few short blocks and thousands of college kids coming out the ears? Not just college kids, but UVA kids. Polo sweaters and madris short-wearing kids, as if it were 1985. This fact became apparent to me during a spring visit in 2009. We happened to arrive into town on a popular horse race weekend, only to get bombarded with about 50 smug-looking pre-law kids who all needed a bagel at 11:00 a.m. Picture a swarm of sweaters around the neck with buzzing faces that looked disapprovingly at anyone who was not them.
The exciting and thrilling part of all this babble is that I feel great. Eric and I decided to just live here - finally. We made an agreement not to use the words, "if we're still here next year," anymore. Ahhhh. The simple and extreme relief of "settling." Suddenly, the puzzle pieces have shifted into place, and my feet feel more attached to the earth. This house looks different. My neighborhood is mine. I don't even mind the "hoodlumish" neighbors on my street. Because this is my house. My child's house. The first home Eric and I ever owned.
After several years of nail-biting conversations and nervous-belly discussions about moving, along with an extreme desire to be "there," wherever there is, we are now here. Just here.
Asher and I sat beneath the tree on our front lawn yesterday for the first time. I'd always wanted to do that.
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