It’s Not Homesickness

It’s not homesickness, though I imagine it could be misdiagnosed as such. We’ve been on the road for nearly a month and I find myself suffering from a certain kind of ennui ~ not bored, but mentally fatigued. Like someone dying of thirst being thrown into a lake. I longed for options, choices, self-determination in my daily life and for over 3 weeks I’ve had an overwhelming amount of that.

Like a prisoner released after a 20 year sentence, I imagine, the routine has a certain amount of comfort and a return to that comfort, at moments, is appealing. Yesterday was Monday, laundry day, and I did do laundry but the one time routine was fraught with challenges. Where is the detergent? How many quarters to wash? How long to dry? Where do these clean clothes now go? The not routine/routine left me feeling disjointed for the rest of the day.

Today, Tuesday, is/was garbage day. Here, the garbage is removed daily and the auxiliary sweeping up, washing down is a much quicker process so I find myself at almost 8AM facing a day of possibilities. Also decision fatigue.

Things I have long done from habit, the same way, with little thought, now require more attention. For example, dinner, which necessitated no more than a glance in the fridge, freezer or cabinet to formulate and execute now involves minutia such as do I have the right cookware? Ingredients? Flatware? Can I prepare that on a three burner stove? Which brand of canned bean is available locally? How much does it cost? On what aisle in the store will I find it?

Where did I lose the ability to choose? Is it like a muscle that you have to exercise? Or is it like presbyopia (old people’s eyesight) that is just a deterioration over time that you have to learn to live with?

Another issue we’re faced with is learning to live in a much smaller area. Intellectually, it’s a matter of storage and distilling possessions into only the most necessary. I was prepared for that. What I failed to prepare for was the reality of physically living in the space. I drop things, a LOT. I bang my knees, crack my elbow and hit my head. I stand and stumble into/against things. I am sporting numerous small bruises, most of which I have no idea how I got. I spill, everything.

The choice to stay here, in Albany, Georgia, for two weeks has been an overwhelmingly positive one. The weather has been perfect, cycling us through a little rain, a little warm, a little chilly and a little windy allowing us to get a real feel for how to stay comfortable in our new home. The nearest grocery is the perfect distance away, not close enough to run to for a forgotten item but not far enough away that we can’t make a daily trip. The town is big enough to offer anything we might need, but small enough that the traffic is not overwhelming.

The park itself is exceedingly comfortable. It has a mix of full timers (like us!) and over-nighters, the hookups present no problem, the individual sites are quite large, the atmosphere is relaxed and quiet and cable TV is provided. The pond and ducks make Meeka’s walks interesting and allowed Brian to spend a little time fishing. The laundry room is clean.

This is the perfect opportunity to relax into our new home and a new reality. A chance to work the muscle of decision making, to refine our ability to live in a small space, to spend a short time reflecting on where we were and preparing for what’s to come before heading north on Saturday.

Now, for the next.