Congruency has a funny way of showing up when you least expect it.
January of this year saw me sitting in my kitchen in Batavia, Ohio taking in the reds and oranges of the glow of a roaring fire. And wondering what the year ahead would bring.
In May, I put the house I'd bought just 2.5 years before up for sale. It was my dream home - on a lake, sitting on 44 wooded acres. Out in the country. Enough room to "grow into". The house I'd wanted for a decade and the one I moved from Philadelphia back to Ohio to buy. Yep. "For Sale" sign at the end of that 500 foot long driveway.
In June, I quit my job of 7 years, took a month off to "get the house ready" - to the point where it was in the best shape I'd ever seen it. Then, I took a job in Rhode Island and promptly moved away. Leaving my wife of 1 year back in Ohio working at her job until she could join me when the house sold.
In late August, she quit her job and joined me. The house was still on the market but we had quite a few bites and enough solid interest that things felt like they were starting to settle some. For 7 whole days until mid-September.
Which was when she handed me a little stick displaying a little pink line. We were having a baby. And our first New England Autumn spun on a dime.
Now, 2 months later and into the 2nd trimester of our greatest adventure yet, things have again settled a little.
Today, we spent the day exploring our new state, from Pawtuxet Village, to funky Wickenden Street in Providence and North to the farm country just South of Woonsocket before heading home as darkness fell early near the Eastern edge of the timezone at 4:15pm.
In unpacking after the move, I had recently uncovered some binders full of paper - old stacks of sheet music. Tonight, I sat down to play a few songs and opened up a folder to find a stack of writing I'd done in April, May and June of 1992 - freshman English essays from Ohio State.
Which is where the whole congruency thing comes into play.
Despite all the change, the sudden starts and stops. Despite reluctantly moving East, then back to the MidWest, and then back East again 8 years later. Despite all the changes - more likely because of them - and my attempt to make sense of them - the truth and the constant in my life is just four words long.
I am a writer.
Writing brings me joy. And a sense of accomplishment. In a world where so much of what I do is tied to a little electronic screen - where everything disappears when you close the monitor screen - writing lets me add something more permanently. And lets me give the world the only gift I have that no one else has. I started this blog in January 2014 with my New Year's resolutions. And despite the upheaval and unexpected (and joyous!) changes this year has brought, tonight, as I read my own handwritten words from 20 years ago, I saw the truth as I hadn't seen it in a long time. I've been writing, journaling, songwriting and now blogging in the lapse time between these bookends. But tonight I saw it more clearly than perhaps I ever have. An identity. A calling. A consistent, and congruent, part of my life.
Last night a friend texted me to congratulate my wife and I on our new addition to the family. I thanked him and made an off-hand remark about how "fast changes" are coming. Indeed they are. Always have. Probably always will.
I am grateful to have this center. Something I have that no one else can give - the story of the world through my eyes.
January of this year saw me sitting in my kitchen in Batavia, Ohio taking in the reds and oranges of the glow of a roaring fire. And wondering what the year ahead would bring.
In May, I put the house I'd bought just 2.5 years before up for sale. It was my dream home - on a lake, sitting on 44 wooded acres. Out in the country. Enough room to "grow into". The house I'd wanted for a decade and the one I moved from Philadelphia back to Ohio to buy. Yep. "For Sale" sign at the end of that 500 foot long driveway.
In June, I quit my job of 7 years, took a month off to "get the house ready" - to the point where it was in the best shape I'd ever seen it. Then, I took a job in Rhode Island and promptly moved away. Leaving my wife of 1 year back in Ohio working at her job until she could join me when the house sold.
In late August, she quit her job and joined me. The house was still on the market but we had quite a few bites and enough solid interest that things felt like they were starting to settle some. For 7 whole days until mid-September.
Which was when she handed me a little stick displaying a little pink line. We were having a baby. And our first New England Autumn spun on a dime.
Now, 2 months later and into the 2nd trimester of our greatest adventure yet, things have again settled a little.
Today, we spent the day exploring our new state, from Pawtuxet Village, to funky Wickenden Street in Providence and North to the farm country just South of Woonsocket before heading home as darkness fell early near the Eastern edge of the timezone at 4:15pm.
In unpacking after the move, I had recently uncovered some binders full of paper - old stacks of sheet music. Tonight, I sat down to play a few songs and opened up a folder to find a stack of writing I'd done in April, May and June of 1992 - freshman English essays from Ohio State.
Which is where the whole congruency thing comes into play.
Despite all the change, the sudden starts and stops. Despite reluctantly moving East, then back to the MidWest, and then back East again 8 years later. Despite all the changes - more likely because of them - and my attempt to make sense of them - the truth and the constant in my life is just four words long.
I am a writer.
Writing brings me joy. And a sense of accomplishment. In a world where so much of what I do is tied to a little electronic screen - where everything disappears when you close the monitor screen - writing lets me add something more permanently. And lets me give the world the only gift I have that no one else has. I started this blog in January 2014 with my New Year's resolutions. And despite the upheaval and unexpected (and joyous!) changes this year has brought, tonight, as I read my own handwritten words from 20 years ago, I saw the truth as I hadn't seen it in a long time. I've been writing, journaling, songwriting and now blogging in the lapse time between these bookends. But tonight I saw it more clearly than perhaps I ever have. An identity. A calling. A consistent, and congruent, part of my life.
Last night a friend texted me to congratulate my wife and I on our new addition to the family. I thanked him and made an off-hand remark about how "fast changes" are coming. Indeed they are. Always have. Probably always will.
I am grateful to have this center. Something I have that no one else can give - the story of the world through my eyes.