For the past year, Steve and I have been debating where to settle and move our family. We explored moving to:
I made pro/con list after pro/con list. I researched schools, grocery stores, hospitals, and airports nearby. I inquired about rental homes and calculated expenses and savings for every option. We dreamed about hiking in the Alps, learning to snowboard, going to UMich football games, enrolling Bub in a Waldorf school surrounded by forest. We took every idea and ran with it to see how far we could take it.
In the meantime, Bub went from being a toddler to becoming a kid with his own opinions, desires, and needs. He solidified his relationships with his grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles. He saw himself part of a community…a community I was so desperate to get away from.
Being in Illinois reminds me of a traumatic childhood, of my social anxieties in high school, of my awkwardness. It reminds me of my unfulfilled dreams of becoming a journalist in a big city, of living abroad, of meeting people who would broaden my horizons about the world. There’s so much more I want to do in life and yet, becoming a mom has put almost all of it on hold or moving at a snail’s pace.
Last week, I woke up with an epiphany. Creating distance between Bub and his current community might hinder him more than sending him to a school that uses pesticides, doesn’t serve organic meals, and isn’t in the mountains. I didn’t want him to resent me for moving him across the country to keep him “safe”.
Sure, I’d love to live somewhere with mountains in the backdrop. Yes, I’d love to hike through the forest every day and find a community of moms who prioritized the same things as me. Of course, I wish I was raised elsewhere and my family lived in ritzy New York or tropical Hawaii instead of in-the-middle-of-the-cornfields Illinois.
But, these are the cards I was dealt and I need to make the best of it. And most importantly, I need to do what’s best for my kids.
Steve and our families were ecstatic about my ultimate decision. Steve breathed a sigh of relief and said, “This makes the most sense financially.” My aunt told me, “I knew you’d come around.” My parents responded with, “I told you so.” I was happy our support system was pleased, I guess. We’ll need their help in August when Baby #2 arrives. I mean, what was I going to do in a new state and town when she arrives and we need someone to watch Bub? Do I deliver on my own while Steve watches Bub? Does Bub hang out in the delivery room with us? Do we pray the delivery is short and during Bub’s school hours? Asking a relative to fly to our new home at the drop of a hat seemed like a tall order.
The one thing I hadn’t figured out was what to do with my feelings of settling. Soon after I made my decision, I woke up in the middle of the night in a panic and feeling restless. I needed to get out of Illinois, out of this house, out of the routine of being a mom, even for just a day. I needed to be reminded of how nice home is. I needed to miss it. Steve encouraged me to book a trip somewhere and he encouraged me to do it whenever I was feeling this way. It could be as small as a staycation by myself or as big as a trip to New Zealand. By allowing them/us to stay in Illinois with a support system, I could leave as often as I’d like and go wherever my heart desired (budget depending). This was our compromise, our solution to settling. Go on trips to remember how good I have it at home.
