dellarobia teaches me about transitions
it's been awhile. i've missed this space and the opportunity to reflect, share, dream, write. i want to promise i'll get better, but i'm not sure that i will. perhaps once i learn the rhythms of this new season? we shall see. but for now, i want to share what dellarobia taught me.
dellarobia is a small town, west virginia girl. she grew up in a world where many options were not offered to her. she was smart and driven, but knew there weren't great expectations on what she would do with her life. so, she resigned herself to it. she lived on a plot of land her inlaws lent her family (herself, her high school "sweetheart" and her two kids), she had one friend, she made tuna casserole. she lived the simplest of lives.
at least until the day everything changed.
to make a long story short, the world's population of monarch butterflies landed in her backyard one night and she discovered it. both a miracle and a scientific mystery, the butterflies drew the attention of the town, then the media, and eventually a scientist who had studied these creatures his entire life. the scientist set up camp outside of her house with his team, offered her a job, and gave her something to dream about, hope for.
dellarobia is the protaginist of this book:
her transition and transformation captivated me. and, in some weird ways, i related to the transitions she was going through.
"the idea of that mountain dragged down, and a certain world with it, was becoming unthinkable to dellarobia. her life was unfolding into something larger by the day, like one of those rectangular gas-station maps that open out to the size of a windshield. she was involved in a way, with those scientists."
dellarobia and i are two completely different people. her choices were different than mine. her outlook on life is not like mine. her marriage, her goals, her family, her world. but, her transition seemed universal.
don't we all go through those situations where we are changed? those times where we just know we can't really go back to exactly how we were before?
perhaps it's when you meet that special someone. perhaps it's when you experience the loss of someone close. perhaps it's when you take the first [fill-n-the-blank] class. perhaps it's when you go to nicaragua for the first time. perhaps it's when you move to new york city or drive a car or buy the skinny jeans that just seem to change your life.
i've had many of these moments in my life already. but the most recent, and maybe the most profound, was moving to copenhagen for a year with my best friend. it changed me. i can feel it in my bones. i learned a lot about myself. i grew. my heart and my mind and my passions were expanded. i cried lots of real tears and burst with deep laughter frequently. renewed, refreshed, and full of the best perspective i had been able to muster in years.
so, when we moved back to our apartment and i was unpacking our boxes and putting the plates in the exact same spot they were in before we left, i felt weird. am i going back to the me that felt a lot more stressed out and stretched thin? do i have to squeeze back into the person i was before i left? it felt like i needed to in a lot of moments. felt like the "mountain [was being] dragged down" and i had to adjust.
it's only when i found myself frustrated with dellarobia's defeated attitude and willingness to think about just shrinking back into her old self that i realized what she taught me:
transitions show you how you've changed and how God is shaping you for your good. like my girl dellarobia, transitions make you nervous. particularly when you've had a season that's expanded and changed you. but, the truth is, on the other side of transition, you're able to look back, at times in wonder, on the ways you've grown. that's a good feeling.
now that we've been back for three months, i feel fully acclimated to dc life. i am soaking in the monuments and the friendships, our families and our church. i can get through the grocery store just as fast as always and don't feel like saying "tak" every time i say "thank you". i am loving the long walks on the capital crescent trail, late nights at martins, baked and wired cookies, my job and the ability to work. i am back to normal and it feels right.
putting the plates back in their assigned seats made me feel like i had to forget this past year and just return to life pre-copenhagen. but, it couldn't be more different. i am seeing dc with rejuvenated eyes and it looks pretty darn good.
