I'm already feeling nostalgic for the things I haven't left yet. And this post seems even more relevant now in light of recent health events in both mine and Bill's families who are thousands of miles away. I'm wondering if my head and my heart are on different wavelengths.
It has been about 4 years since I packed up and moved so I think, much like childbirth, my brain has erased the traumatic parts of severing relationships and comfortable comforts so that I can go ahead and do it again with a hopeful feeling that I've made a really good decision.
If I think about it, in the last 10 years I have lived in 8 houses and Bill has lived in 7 (three of those we lived in together). In fact in the last 10 years even my poor cat has lived in 5 houses (and we're about ready to force him into a 6th). We just get urges to do something different and have that "grass must be greener" idea in our heads I suppose.
There are some perks to having lived all over the place. Being a medium-sized-root-couple (ones who don't set down super deep roots, but also have more depth than superficial golf course grass roots) means that for the most part we can travel almost anywhere and have a friend to grab dinner with or a spare bedroom to sleep in. Through 7 degrees of separation we even managed to find a family to stay with in New Zealand (who by the way not only are cool with us staying with them but are willing to be our "emergency text friends" so that we can let them know when we go in and out of the backcountry and then they can call the NZ police if we don't text them when we said we'd exit the backcountry - basically an Aaron Ralston foolproof plan) when we arrive and I have no doubt that the interconnectedness of our network will continue to impress me.
But there are still Drawbacks. Like: I miss out on lots of important things that happen in important people's lives. Dance Recitals. Birthdays. Graduations. And even dumb stuff like fights with coworkers or putting new curtains in the bedroom or getting a new pet. And I'm having serious f.o.m.o about not being in Salt Lake for ski season this winter. Most especially I'm feeling guilty about not being around to support our families in California and Alabama during some serious health crises because our families live in a different state *loud drum beat*.
I was having lunch with a friend today who is from the Southeast. She and I were talking about how much The Head and The Heart song "Rivers and Roads" resonates - and most especially with me right now as I prepare to leave. She was telling me she can't listen to it on the way out of Tennessee, her home state, because it hurts too much (listening to it on the way in is OK though).
In July when I drove from Salt Lake City to Denver to drop my sister off in her new city, I added the song to her playlist because I thought it would be an important sound track to her life. She tells me now that she can't listen to it with out crying.
Truth is, neither can I.
There's a line in the song that says, "So if you don't know what to make of this. Then we will not relate." and there is something true about the medium-rooted and short-rooted folk. There is a deep sense of longing attached with the still deeper sense of adventure that tug at each other all the time. At the same time that I'm daydreaming about our van and about the canyons and mountains and beaches we'll explore, I'm simultaneously mourning the sense of stability I have with my friends and my Salt Lake home (and in a way - but less strong - the other home I used to live in too) - wishing I was buying a season pass to Solitude and that I'd be around to see my friends' new home they just bought or the new baby our other friends are about to birth or to go to music festivals that I know are coming up. So there's a constant tug between my head and my heart - about what makes logical sense versus what makes emotional sense - a tug between stability and novelty - the divide between what I think I want and what I'm supposed to want.
I can't imagine that I'll ever stop having this internal struggle.
Bill is teaching himself to play the song on the ukulele now. Excuse me while I go cry into my otter hoodie.
Taryn
Wednesday, October 26, 2016
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Monday, October 10, 2016
The Impetus
We did it. We're committed. We bought a one way plane ticket to New Zealand (which isn't even legal there because in order for us to even get a travel visa we have to have an "exit plan" - which we do not) and have notified our perfectly good jobs that we are quitting - not because we are unhappy with our careers or because we found something better - but because we feel like right now, this time in our life, is like no other time and that if we don't leap into this adventure then we might regret it forever.
After 4.5ish years of living in Salt Lake City we have finally created a beautiful friend community that feels like home. We have neighbors that we can call on in an emergency and who will watch our dog without a blink. We have amazing friends who we get to go on amazing adventures with and who enrich and inspire us weekly. We have adult sports league commitments and pub trivia friends. We are so comfortable with the trails and terrain here that we could take a hike or a ride with or without a dog every day and never repeat ourselves. We have favorite restaurants and take out Indian food go-tos. We have it made here. And we're still leaving.
Bill works for Petzl, a fabulous outdoor gear company that makes climbing equipment, and has a great job with a wonderful boss (what's up Michel and Bret) and an incredible work environment where he can go climbing at lunch, bring the dog with him to work, and saunter in to work in flip flops and a hoodie.
I work for a federally qualified health care clinic called Midtown Community Health Center as a Physician Assistant. I have finally been transferred to the clinic closest to my house (a 6 minute commute by car and a 15 minute commute by bike) and have two incredible doctors to share my day with and to learn from and have finally gotten to know and feel comfortable with the South Salt Lake community.
We are both lucky beyond measure to have good jobs, to be liked and respected by coworkers, to make a decent living so that we can buy unreasonably priced cheese at Whole Foods whenever we damn well want to and have a kickass rental house with views of the mountains that is a 35 minute drive door-to-door to Solitude Ski Resort - and we're leaving.
We got married 4 months ago (highly recommend it, best day ever) after dating for 5 years. Took our sweet sweet time. I'm 31 and Bill is 34. Both late bloomers. Me more than Bill. We both know we want to have kids some day (like before I'm 35 to avoid all those terrible states about maternal and infant outcomes, you know?) but also know that whimsical last minute trips governed by our road atlas and the nearest coffee shop will not be as easy with screaming hungry infants and toddlers. Don't get me wrong - we plan to drag our poor children along on all sorts of dirtbag adventures - but we also kind of know that kids aren't into forgetting jackets and blankets and ending up sleeping in the snow spooning to stay warm or sleeping on the floor in a fisherman's poker shack on the spit on Homer.
So with this information in mind. And with the knowledge we have - we've agreed that right now is basically the only time in our lives that we have to absolutely and completely wing it.
We plan to print out our wedding vows as a guide and reference them as we are nearly wringing eachothers' necks after 3 months of spending 24/7 together in a small van in New Zealand.
Traveling seems glamorous (and it is because Bill and I are both super glamorous as you know) but we also see this as a tremendous growth opportunity for us as a couple. We have taken 2-3 week trips together in the past but have never embarked on such a prolonged trip with just the two of us and no other distractions. We're both nerve-cited (made up word that I bet you can guess the two derivatives of) about all of the really deeply beautiful moments that we know that we'll have looking out over immense oceans and valleys and feeling like the universe is in line with us and our energies - but also about the inevitable spats and arguments and frustrations that will come and how we will adapt to deal with them.
So this blog will be about our travels but also about us.
After 4.5ish years of living in Salt Lake City we have finally created a beautiful friend community that feels like home. We have neighbors that we can call on in an emergency and who will watch our dog without a blink. We have amazing friends who we get to go on amazing adventures with and who enrich and inspire us weekly. We have adult sports league commitments and pub trivia friends. We are so comfortable with the trails and terrain here that we could take a hike or a ride with or without a dog every day and never repeat ourselves. We have favorite restaurants and take out Indian food go-tos. We have it made here. And we're still leaving.
Bill works for Petzl, a fabulous outdoor gear company that makes climbing equipment, and has a great job with a wonderful boss (what's up Michel and Bret) and an incredible work environment where he can go climbing at lunch, bring the dog with him to work, and saunter in to work in flip flops and a hoodie.
I work for a federally qualified health care clinic called Midtown Community Health Center as a Physician Assistant. I have finally been transferred to the clinic closest to my house (a 6 minute commute by car and a 15 minute commute by bike) and have two incredible doctors to share my day with and to learn from and have finally gotten to know and feel comfortable with the South Salt Lake community.
We are both lucky beyond measure to have good jobs, to be liked and respected by coworkers, to make a decent living so that we can buy unreasonably priced cheese at Whole Foods whenever we damn well want to and have a kickass rental house with views of the mountains that is a 35 minute drive door-to-door to Solitude Ski Resort - and we're leaving.
We got married 4 months ago (highly recommend it, best day ever) after dating for 5 years. Took our sweet sweet time. I'm 31 and Bill is 34. Both late bloomers. Me more than Bill. We both know we want to have kids some day (like before I'm 35 to avoid all those terrible states about maternal and infant outcomes, you know?) but also know that whimsical last minute trips governed by our road atlas and the nearest coffee shop will not be as easy with screaming hungry infants and toddlers. Don't get me wrong - we plan to drag our poor children along on all sorts of dirtbag adventures - but we also kind of know that kids aren't into forgetting jackets and blankets and ending up sleeping in the snow spooning to stay warm or sleeping on the floor in a fisherman's poker shack on the spit on Homer.
So with this information in mind. And with the knowledge we have - we've agreed that right now is basically the only time in our lives that we have to absolutely and completely wing it.
We plan to print out our wedding vows as a guide and reference them as we are nearly wringing eachothers' necks after 3 months of spending 24/7 together in a small van in New Zealand.
Traveling seems glamorous (and it is because Bill and I are both super glamorous as you know) but we also see this as a tremendous growth opportunity for us as a couple. We have taken 2-3 week trips together in the past but have never embarked on such a prolonged trip with just the two of us and no other distractions. We're both nerve-cited (made up word that I bet you can guess the two derivatives of) about all of the really deeply beautiful moments that we know that we'll have looking out over immense oceans and valleys and feeling like the universe is in line with us and our energies - but also about the inevitable spats and arguments and frustrations that will come and how we will adapt to deal with them.
So this blog will be about our travels but also about us.
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