Underrated Stories Presents
New England Is Calling
Life’s next chapter brings a great and difficult transformation
There is a single chair that lives at the northeast corner of my office building, some-19 floors above the ground. I discovered this ultra-scenic and welcoming nook during one of many late nights reading and writing for graduate school, returning still, often simply to ponder life.
The view overlooks a sleepy neighborhood below — one that existed well before the ribbon to this glass and metal monstrosity was ever cut.
Sitting with leg crossed over knee, fingers intertwined, wearing a relaxed facial expression, and eyes scanning the angular rooftops fit for an M. C. Escher drawing, I reflected on change.
Nothing stays the same — an axiom that is guaranteed like death and taxes.
It is Thursday afternoon, a few days settled into January. Memories of the year past ebb steadily — a sequence of major and minor events flows through the mental reel.
It was this time last year, give or take a few weeks, when my fiance and I had agreed to level up in the name of a better life. We had developed, and recognized, an acute intolerance for settling for anything less than our own version of greatness.
This relationship, which we are fortunate to have nurtured this close to marriage, seeks the occasional dose of challenging circumstances to ward off the perils of settling on a comfortable plateau.
“What does the next chapter look like, exactly?”
I questioned, silently — eventually asking over Greek food. Never make life plans without good hummus.
It quickly became clear that our joint desired destination would necessitate a commitment to sacrifice, discomfort, and physical relocation at some point in the near future. My facial expression high above the city suddenly changed, smiling slightly in that office chair, now just three weeks away from uprooting to begin a new chapter in the northeast.
The recent and somewhat surprising calm that has consumed my being is the result of two strong and dueling forces cancelling each other out:
Excitement and nervousness
A desire to seek change and growth overtakes the temptation to stay put, to abide by the status quo. There is a special serenity attached to that state of mind; and excitement in the prospect of growing stronger through adversity.
But, presently, as I sit overlooking the place I have called home for all but two years of my life, the gravity of saying goodbye weighs heavier with each passing minute.
Like a mental tug-of-war, regardless of inevitable homesickness, something deep within the soul of my being creates momentum for transformation. It is a train engine pulling heavy cars along a long stretch of steel track.
This is the gut; this is instinct; this is the mind, heart, and core aligned to assist in making a decision that will change my life forever. Undoubtedly, tension and difficulty will arise, but great things occur after that first, or next, step.
Adding to the popular Walsch quote: Life begins, and continues, outside of your comfort zone. The decision to begin anew is driven primarily by the desire to improve.
Having said all of that, I’m pretty nervous. The unknown, inherently terrifying, requires a leap of blind faith. When moving to a new city that welcomes with a perceived expectation of permanence, decisions at every step create a larger future ripple.
I mentioned earlier that I’d lived elsewhere for two years. That experience sticks with me like a scar or tattoo — and it has taught me a lot.
That decision to say ‘Yes’ to an out-of-state opportunity occurred when I was single, willing to take on some extra risk for the sake of adventure. The destination was domestic, yet foreign; a place I could point to on a map and detail its culture with vague accuracy, but in truth had no clue what I was getting myself into, and I showcased that naivete almost daily.
Yet pleasure emerged while navigating the discomfort.
For two years I grew like an awkwardly beautiful flower in the southern sun, watered by the natural friendship and generosity of its native people. Leaves and petals would fall and grow through the bounty of experience, leaving small scars, but I survived in the end.
I ultimately boomeranged home, chock-full of suntanned lessons that still incite equal amounts of smiles and winces; lessons that are packed for the trip north in three short weeks.
Five years later, a similar decision looms, but, oh, how life has changed. Planning a wedding, growing closer to my spouse-to-be and her family, imagining children, and adjusting the career path all add to a growing list of priorities.
Some would plan to settle in, calm it down, and cool the engines — but we are just getting started, eager to hit the accelerator.
I returned from the depths of my thoughts, sunk into the chair, gently shaking my head and rubbing my eyes. The sun was beginning to set over the western hills, the flow of traffic picking up during an evening rush home. I would join them soon.
Gathering my belongings, I concluded the introspective meditation with a summary of what to remember and keep.
What, if any, was the cause of my angst?
What produced excitement ahead of the eminent change?
How would I maintain focus in the face of inevitable chaos?
Questions such as these often beckon as a major transition begins. The answers, both clear and unclear, beg contributions from the heart, mind, body, and soul. An optimal outcome comprises equal parts looking back, remaining present, and planning for the future. It is a balancing act of the selfish and selfless — all while remaining ever-self aware.
Transformation is beautiful pain. It is the embodiment of every cliche about growth and self-improvement that you have ever seen. Each phase presents its own set of decisions that will decide your fate in real time.
We have decided to leave this place, move to the northeast, and endure the challenges that arise with such a choice. We believe, in our heart of hearts, that those trials will compile with past experience to create something even greater. And when the next opportunity presents itself (remember when I mentioned children?!), we will accept it with open arms into our lives.
Riding the elevator 12-floors to the parking garage entryway, I rehearsed a monologue to those standing on the edge, afraid of taking the next step.
It began:
What is it that you want more than anything in the world? What is it that you fear? If those answers are not obvious to you, try instead, what is it that dominates your life and decision making?
Take inventory of these things often and allow yourself to dream. Imagine a life where fear is your friend, and an enemy of your enemy.
If you were to transform into a new and nearly perfect version of yourself, who would that be? It is entirely possible, but the road to that end is long, tiresome, and onerous.
You have what it takes, but must first decide.
New England is calling, and I must go.
Thank you for reading — follow me on Twitter @_TUWP_ and on Facebook @MarshallonMedium
The Underrated Writing Project has moved to Boston, MA as of January 27, 2020. Massachusetts writers, I’d love to hear from you!
© Brendan Marshall 2020
