Upon Beginning a New Chapter

This, my first week in Minneapolis, has been a motley assortment of trials and successes. Perhaps more trials thus far than successes. My emotions have run the gambit from ecstatic joy at finding a welcome package waiting for me at my new apartment, to sheer terror whilst attempting to find my building's laundry room. In the last seven days I have moved approximately 700 pounds of stuff up two flights of stairs, assembled bookcases and dressers, and managed to resist all but two cutesy items in Target's homewares department (seriously, though, my salt and pepper shakers are adorable). 

The reality of living away from home -- actually living and not visiting or studying abroad -- is sinking in by degrees. I had all sorts of hopes and expectations about the newfound freedoms I would enjoy and the adventures I would relish in a new city. While there certainly has been some of that, my day to day and hour to hour life has looked rather more like distracting myself from the weight of homesickness that seems determined to set up residence in my subconscious. 

The kettle really boiled over on Saturday night when I decided to be brave and attend a contra dance in the south of the city. Going in I felt great: I had succeeded in using both the bus and the light rail, and had arrived early enough to have a pleasant conversation with a nice older gentleman and even run into a handful of Catholic missionaries out for an evening's entertainment. This feeling of lighthearted enjoyment lasted no longer than it took me to walk through the doors to the dance hall. Immediately I was hit with an overwhelming sensation of loss. It wasn't that the dance hall at home dwarfed this one in comparison or that the band consisted of misfit musicians, it was that I had not realized just how much of my heart I had left behind. This dance hall could have been as grand as a palace and the band could have been the President's Own, but they were not my home and they were not my family.

Each day, though, has been an opportunity to learn and to grow. Even the hard days. Especially the hard days. Saturday taught me that it is okay to be sad and to miss home, but to not let that stop me from being bold and trying new things (or old things in a new place, as the case may be). 

I can't say for certain when I will feel it, but I know this one thing to be true: there is a plan for all of this -- a plan to give me a hope and a future.