Rooted, I used to think.

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Atonement - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019

Thursday, May. 12, 2011 @ 5:55 pm
Isolating Dream

Weeknights alone.

I went to the library last night after work. As soon as I enter the library I relax and forget about everything to do with work. The library is a space for me, a place where I can think about doing creative things. I imagine that the library does for me what the spa does for other women.

When I was there, my phone vibrated with a restricted number. I didn't answer it. Nobody ever calls me except Daniel.

An hour later, I sat in the car listening to the voicemail. Friends of ours from our Vancouver days, passing through, looking for somewhere to get food (aka. a place to stay). I immediately panicked and began formulating excuses as to why I wouldn't return their call or couldn't meet them for dinner. I started to drive home, windshield wipers flapping in the drenching spring rain, feeling overwhelmed with guilt and anxiety.

When I crossed the river, I pulled over and gathered myself. And then I called them back.

I chose a place for dinner, met them there, invited them and their two little boys back to our house, played with the boys, caught up with the adults, served snacks, and made up two beds. I hugged the boys each goodnight.

In the morning I made a huge pot of oatmeal and filled the teapot to the brim. The boys sat around the table in their jammies, talking about their dreams and alternately excusing themselves to play with the cats.

I'm proud of myself for coping with unexpected visitors when Daniel wasn't with me. I'm happy that I called them back, and I'm happy to have friends like them. They make me think and dream and not settle for anything less than a passionate life. They encourage my creativity, wanting to see my quilts and soaps. Our lives have crossed paths several times over the years in unexpected parts of the province, and because of that I am certain that we are meant to learn from and follow their out-of-the-box example.

A lot of the time I struggle with situations like this. Call it social anxiety or just plain shyness, but making friends for me is just about the hardest thing in the world. However, in return, it can also be the most rewarding.

I could not sleep last night. I lay awake thinking about the boys tucked into the beds downstairs. I lay awake stroking Alf as he lay on Daniel's empty pillow feeling excited and alive and somehow shaken from the isolating dream that is my everyday life in Prince George.

Roots | Shoots