I moved to New Haven on July 23rd, 2019.
I’ve lived here just over three weeks now – I think – and it’s been a combination of profound stress, sporadic sadness, and excitement.
I think I decided to write today because, 1. it’s been raining since I woke up, so I canceled my plans to walk to a local restaurant to meet up with a fellow seminarian and, 2. my car was towed this morning due to a misunderstanding about the street cleaning schedule and it put me in just the right mood (read: despair-rage) to be introspective.
I completed my discernment committee meetings in early July – about 15 hours in total, if you count training – and since then, I’ve pretty much been wiped out on the introspection front. I enjoyed the committee sessions immensely and, contrary to everyone’s warnings, didn’t find them overwhelming or triggering. Rather, they were a good opportunity to practice saying what I feel about church, my religious and spiritual journey, my sense of calling, and my hesitations about committing to a life of church ministry. At the time, I felt relief, like what’s been a secret tamped down inside me for so long is something I’m now allowed to express in public.
But then I had to say goodbye to my beloved volunteers and customers at the thrift shop where I worked for five years; fight to hold back tears during my last day singing in my church choir; and spend an ungodly number of hours sorting, packing, cleaning, moving, unpacking, sorting out life logistics, and more. It’s left me feeling a bit like a robot rather than a person. I simply haven’t had the emotional energy to think that much about what’s happening, to process the fact that I now live in a completely different state in a completely different region, several hours away from almost everyone I know and love.
It’s ok, though. I’ve been thinking about how I reacted to this move versus how I reacted when we moved from Florida to Virginia. I remember putting on a performative melancholy at the time, and then legitimately struggling with SAD through my first real winter in “the north.” This time around, even though Daniel and I have been in near isolation for almost a month, I have the perspective to keep telling myself: “Your feelings are valid, but they are not permanent.” I’m sad and lonely – and that can make me feel frantic, a bit unhinged – but I know that it’s normal and I know what I need to do to cope.
That’s a nice thing about getting older, and the nice thing about having worked with people far outside my peer group for the last several years. I don’t have to perform introspection or authenticity or melancholy. I can just wait it out.
With our endless free time – both Daniel and I are currently unemployed – we’ve been exploring local restaurants and thrift shops. I found a really good Goodwill in nearby Milford and enjoyed taking a walk to a local market last week. I even walked to church on Sunday – a local Episcopal parish that is mostly lay led – where I heard one of the best sermons of my life and met a few people around my age.
A few photos from around town
We live in New Haven proper, and so our neighborhood is very pedestrian-friendly. Now that the weather is cooling down (it was in the 90s the week we moved here), I plan to walk over the seminary and get a feel for how doable my morning commute will be.
Orientation is next week and school starts a few days after that. In the meantime, I’ll be reading some recommended books, continuing to organize our belongings, and playing with our newly adopted cat, Li’l Sebastian.
My body is fragile
When you’re 27
When it’s my time
And everyone who searches
Leah Wise 