Each time I’ve moved some place different, as much as it is exciting to explore, there is that anxiety about finding my way. Did I turn down the wrong road? Where is the nearest grocery store? Wait, where is the farmer’s market? Where is my place in all of this? Where is my tribe?
In San Antonio and Dallas, I fumbled with jotted down directions until (thank God) map apps came along. But here on the island, finding my way is a little different. Nothing has really changed since the last four or five times we’ve been here. There is one road in and out. You get here by Mukilteo/Clinton Ferry or by bridge via Deception Pass. The journey’s are the roads leading one way or the other to the water, past a farm, past a state park or a garden.
After a week here, I decided to make my way out to get this and that. Along the way, I found I knew my way for the most part. And, yet, there was this expectation that I was going to find myself lost, at the end of a dirt road wondering where I went wrong. That’s the thing about an island or a small town, eventually, you run out of real estate. With that said, I know there are nooks and crannies of this island that I haven’t discovered and plenty of people I haven’t met.
Normally in a new city, I dive in to get out of my comfort zone on purpose. Here, I feel like I need to find where that uncomfortable zone may be for me and perhaps that will take some time. We’ve moved to a house on four acres, perhaps the solace in all of this will be beyond my comfort zone, but for now, I’m simply finding my way outside the city somewhere near the end of the earth.