Starting Over

You can generally tell how full a person’s life is by the number of keys they have on their keyring. Keys to the house. Keys to the car (which in my case was a moped). Keys to the church. Keys to the office. Keys to the post office box. In one week I went from having all these keys to having none. I’m starting over.

I’m thinking about what it means to have zero keys on my keychain, what it means to start over. It means getting comfortable with a new home. Creating that special space from scratch. Choosing furniture, deciding where all the artwork will go, acquiring those basic ingredients you need to make yourself feel at home. It takes some time to introduce yourself to a new situation. Confronting those cracks in the walls, the dripping faucet, the toilet that doesn’t quite flush right. At first all these dysfunctions glare at you for being the stranger that you are. But eventually you get used to one another and agree to ignore each other’s defficiencies, like old friends.

Starting over also means memorizing a new landscape. It takes a few tries to figure out which is the best way to run all of your errands in less than an hour. Which comes first? The bank? The grocery store? The post office? Sooner or later you fall into an efficient routine, but before you encounter that pleasant circumstance, you have to spend some time just wandering aimlessly and decide that that is okay.

Not only must you learn a new geographical landscape, but there is a social landscape that is a bit harder to forge. At least for me. I do not have that strikingly charismatic personality that draws people to me like a baby labrador. It takes a while for me to get comfortable enough in my new environment to muster up the courage to say “Hi, my name is Annika.” I usually have to give myself little pep talks that involve phrases like “Hun, you are God’s gift to this earth” and “Why wouldn´t they want to know you? You’re HOT.” Ha ha, I jest. But the point is, it’s not always easy to arrive upon a scene and know that new friends are just around the bend. But like with any new adjustment, you’ve just got to give it time. Time heals all things, reveals all things.

I have the advantage of not being a total stranger to the country I now call home. I have visited many times and all of my relatives live within a two-hour radius. But I am still a little apprehensive. What if this country that I have idealized all my life turns out to be so far from what I have imagined? It would be hard to face that kind of disillusionment. And what if I don’t fit in? All of my life I have felt so “other,” no matter where I happened to be living. What makes me think this time around it will be different? I don’t know. I’ll just have to see. The most important thing in this new adjustment is to give myself the time and emotional space I need to do just that—adjust. I tend to expect myself to adapt to any situation right away and berate myself for taking such a long time. But just like my now empty keychain, I’ve got space to fill. I am open to every kind of possibility. Step by step I will fill that keychain with new meaning. A new house, a new job, new friends, a new church, a new life. And you know what? I think I’m really looking forward to it. With butterflies in my stomach. And with my keyring in hand.