Hoping

It’s official: we have moved to Tempe.

We have no place of our own, and no jobs, and little to do but apply and pray and explore and hope.  Hoping is a big and important job at times like this.

Tempe feels so familiar and comfortable to me, in large part, I think, because it is like Colorado with palm trees.  Returning to the West feels like coming back to my roots, though I come back to them such a different person than when I left.

This is, in so many ways, not Boston.  It is not where I’ve been–not the history, not the inconvenience, not the quirkiness or the attitude or the accent.  I remember so vividly descending into Boston the day I moved there–the feeling of disbelief, of wonder, not having any idea what awaited me or what the years would hold.  But I was delighted by the possibilities and the unknowns.

It was a similar feeling landing in Phoenix, though more tempered and through older eyes.  The wonder, I hope, remains, because it is a terrible thing to lose your sense of wonder.  But now, of course, I have this man who is on this wild adventure with me (wonder!).  I have the weight of responsibilities, adult worries, complex relationships.  But mostly, I have hope.  That must be the most important thing, knowing that despite the worries and everything else, this is exactly where we are meant to be, right now, today.  That holds everything together.