Unsettled

What's the word for "homesick" when you've moved away? All those cliche quotes about home, what is it? My mailing address, places with people I love, somewhere to sleep? If Sacramento is to be my new home, does "homesick" still apply to missing the things I love 45 minutes southwest of here? I used to use "going home" to describe San Jose, but now when people ask where I moved from, all they know is Stockton. So what is home these days?

I had one of those moments in Safeway on Friday when I realized I didn't quite know where everything was. I have never been here before, and this isn't normal yet, so instead of a mere run of errands, I was now facing a sudden pang of sadness. And then my shopping list on a post-it note had fallen, so I felt silly trying to casually look around for it.

It's weird having to look up directions to Target, ask someone where the nearest gas station is, and have to consciously figure out where you are. Kinda makes me feel disoriented and vulnerable.

Speaking of directions, today I emptied out the compartment next to my driver's seat. It held three years worth of Google map printouts and other address scribbled on papers, including three different addresses to my college roommate, documenting the house she grew up in, her first apartment with her husband, and her new house. I didn't need to keep all of these addresses, but it became a habit to stash them, and it prevented me from having to re-look up directions a few times. But chances that I'll be visiting those places now is even less, now that I'm 45 minutes away. In ways, moving feels like I'm having to sort through which memories are actually important. Even so, I read every address, piecing it together with the event or home--FD training in Sac, a friend's new apartment in the Bay, an Ultimate tournament--before putting it through the shredder.

I went to my first church in Sacramento today. Didn't plan in advance enough to go with a friend, so I google'd a church and walked in, sat by myself. Spoke to a few kind members, but otherwise, felt like I slipped in and slipped out. What a change from having a place to be at Quail for so many years.

To say this week has been rough is an understatement. Not because of Sacramento, which I find myself starting to like: driving on freeways, my room, our apartment, the American River, good ultimate and running trails. But life has thrown a curve ball that has left a zillion questions in its trail with no answers. My default ways of processing: running (I can only think one thought at a time when I run) and journaling in a coffee shop. Except I don't have a favorite coffee shop, and I miss Empresso. Once I find a coffee shop with high stools in a corner that let me peer out to the street, I may be sold. I can't count how many times I've sat in my favorite spot at Empresso, churning thoughts while gazing out at Miracle Mile...

home, when you close your eyes
and you feel in your heart
how your soul’s alive

Home:Word, Magnetic North