Belonging

Baby Girl and I went on a walk today - that's twice this week I've managed to work out. And, while I think the excuse for moving Daylight Savings back into March is ludicrous, I'm singing the praises of the man who started it all.

Anyway, as we were walking (or, rather, I was walking, and she was sleeping in her Snugli), I found myself wandering (my mother would be horrified) into random neighborhoods. I paused at every single house for sale and wondered what they looked like inside. I watched children play in the streets, couples walking their dogs after works, teenagers out running. I walked and walked and walked (it was only upon returning home that I realized I had been walking for 90 minutes and it was nearly Baby Girl's bedtime - no wonder she was sleepy!).

As I walked, I thought about belonging.

After two years in our apartment in Northern Virginia - two years of railing against renting, I bought curtains for my living room windows. It made a huge difference. I felt settled. Nearly everyone I knew rented. It was too expensive to even consider any other option, so I hung my curtains and settled in. Long before that, however, I had settled in socially - making friends, investing in long-term relationships and feeling as if I belonged.

That is what is missing here. I realized tonight I am consciously holding myself aloof, because I know The Hobbit Hole is not a forever proposition - or even one beyond our year's lease. I know moving is right around the corner, again. I'm not naturally social - I have to force myself to be social - so combined with the hesitation to make any truly meaningful emotional investments, thereby subjecting myself to eternal guilt for not being a good enough friend to keep in touch, I haven't exactly made any friends.

In fact, I realized as I was walking, that the next time I move, I'm not bothering with unpacking any of the holiday items, camping items, most of our books, the special occasion kitchen items, anything home decor, etc. A boring, simple existence, to be sure - but the thought of packing again and moving makes me want to cry.

At the same time I was patting myself on the back for being so smart and efficient in planning our next move, my heart sank. It is exactly this same line of thinking (subconsciously of course) that has resulted in me living here for nearly 10 months and having nothing to show for it.

Not one new friend.
Not one new business networking contact.
Not one dinner party (to be fair, we have no dining room or dining room table).
In fact, only one couple over for dinner - or anything - ever.
Not a membership to anything (other than the library, without which I would either go broke from spending too much at a bookstore or go mad from not reading).
Not one favorite hangout or walking destination or place.
Not one radio station programmed into the car (due mostly to the fact that I listen to books on CD while I drive, and I've memorized the call sign of the local NPR station -the only radio to which I really listen).

Our lease is up in two months. Himself still doesn't have a job. I desperately need a new one. All of which must revolve around Miss Jan, Baby Girl's sitter, as I'm not willing to sacrifice her services even out of geographic inconvenience.

Other than the very obvious blessing of Baby Girl, I don't have much to show for the past year, and I know it's subconsciously on purpose, because it's not as hard to leave nothing as it is to leave something.

That and curtains made for 6' windows don't work very well in The Hobbit Hole.