But it wasn't. (And only a tiny portion of that can be blamed on the traffic at I-35.)
No, the let down was largely my fault.
It was so disappointing, because this place had held such promise for me.
So many things about living here were above and beyond my expectations. The family time was unparalleled. The activities were bountiful--we were never without something to do. The schools were phenomenal. The kids' coaches and activities were the best we've had to date. And I was SUPER excited that we were going to be able to spend all of this time in the heart of Texas. (Because it is God's country, of course!)
But I was so, so very lonely here. And it was soul-crushing.
For the record, I just want to say that Texans are famously friendly people for a reason.
You can engage with people all the time here. We are not shy about small talk in any fashion. We make eye contact and nod and wave at everyone. We've been known to hug people upon first introductions. Truly, if you're not careful, a conversation with the grocery store checkout lady can hold up the line for thirty minutes.
Therefore, I knew it wasn't because of the people in a state whose name literally means "Friend" that I was not able to make any.
I had a bunch of theories about why I never connected with the people in my new community:
-They weren't military families, so it was hard to establish a relationship with people who already had solid friend circles/weren't looking to let in the "new kid."
-I was "too different" from the non-military, well-off people in my neighborhood.
-It was too big, so it was hard to make a real connection with people.
-Technology. Because I'm pretty sure it is to blame for everything.
-I wasn't going to be here that long, so I didn't need to invest time in making friends.
-I didn't really need friends, because this was supposed to be dedicated family time.
-I am not nearly as fun as I think I am.
(It pretty much spiraled downward from there.)
The truth is, there was evidence to support almost every theory on my list.
-Sometimes people who have grown up in a community of friends for a long time find it difficult to reach out to the new kid. It doesn't make them bad people. It is just a skill set they don't use as often and are less practiced in.
-I was different from many of the people in my neighborhood. We were tumbleweeds in a land of live oaks with well-established roots. We were making a piece of our lives in a place where generations of families had built the entirety of theirs.
-Everything is bigger in Texas--most of all, acceptable drive times. The kids' elementary school was far. The husband's campus was far. The church was far. The grocery store was further than I was used to. Clubs and activities could be hours away. Traffic here is dumb, so far drives were made long. I was in my car ALL THE TIME here, and that's the pits, because that makes it hard to meet people.
-When I was with people I'd consider peers (soccer moms, swim moms, school moms) it was hard to reach out because everyone was looking at their phones. (Which I also did, so I didn't seem like I was staring at everyone like a weirdo.)
-Eighteen months is not long at all when you're trying to put together a stable life for your family. I needed time to put my home together and figure out all of the places our life would happen, so really the window to make friends was limited. Add to it the fact that I don't work outside of the home, so sometimes my windows for adult interaction can feel (and actually be) microscopic.
-Family time was my highest priority here. In truth, I probably overbooked us trying to make up for lost time. Occasionally I had to remind myself that our family needed to keep weekends open so my kids could have a chance to go to birthday parties or hang out with the kids on the street who would ask them to play. Sometimes I had to remind myself that my husband's favorite thing to do is go hunting alone in the woods and not have me squished right beside him 24/7.
-I have become comfortably lame in my thirties. I like to be able to hear music played at a reasonable volume. I like to beat the restaurant crowds and will eat an earlier dinner to do it. I like not spending $8 on a drink that should cost $2. I like to be home by 9:00. I like my pajamas and my bed. (And I like not being on my phone all the time, so sometimes I catch myself accidentally staring like a weirdo.)
But the last couple of months changed that for me.
I decided to sign up for a Bible study, and since I didn't know anyone there, I locked onto something I knew I liked: the snack table. I sat down next to it and watched the empty seats fill up around me. Many of the women at my table obviously already knew each other, and I began to immediately fear that I had made a mistake. I looked intensely at my plate full of beautiful breakfast casseroles and my new book and welcome packet to guard myself. Basically, I shut down before I even tried to invest.
Introductions around the table were short and sweet. I quickly learned that I had accidentally sat down at the table with many of the ladies on the leadership team. (Which made sense to me because I am consistently awkward like that.) But in spite of my initial hardness and social awkwardness, they were so sweet to me.
As the weeks drew on and I began to feel more comfortable opening up with them, I realized that the Bible study was coming to an end and I began to slip back into a state of disconnect. You see, the church was still far away from my house. I was still getting ready to move further away in a short couple of weeks. And while their kindness and fun conversation had been so good for my heart during this time, I knew any kind of friendship was going to be hard to keep up.
That's when I realized it: Though a lot of things may have been working against me, I had nobody else to blame for this lonely season but myself.
Turns out, if I took a really honest look at myself over the last year and a half, then I would have to add this theory to my list:
-Friendships take a lot of effort, and I had not been doing the work.
Sadly, there was tons and tons of evidence to support this.
The Army has long used the tagline "Bloom Where You're Planted."
It would be easy to view this as a blanket statement to mean "make the best of what you've got" or "find the good in where you are." And these are well and good interpretations, but they can leave something to be desired.
You see, anyone who has ever tried to garden before knows that it can take a lot of work to make things bloom. I can scatter random seeds in the dirt and walk away, and occasionally something might pop up. But I have a better chance of yielding fruit if I till the soil, plant the seed, fertilize it, water it, and tend to it as it grows.
Listen, sometimes you do those things and nothing grows. This happens, unfortunately.
I had some irises outside of my house last spring that produced some promising leaves but then never blossomed. For whatever reason, the conditions just weren't right. But instead of tearing them out, I left them there to see how they'd fare with one more season.
This summer in Texas was an especially wet one. Winter was actually cold. And this spring, as bluebonnets began to dot our landscape, I was greeted with beautiful purple and gold flowers. Now I only got two blossoms out of the sea of leaves I had left the year before, but it was such a beautiful sight.
It made me realize that the late blooms were worth the work and the wait.
Because I told the Bible study ladies I would, I emailed them when I found out that the Army was sending our family to Alaska. I was greeted with messages of encouragement, helpful contacts and connections, requests to see me again before I left, and promises to keep in touch. I can see these beautiful buds forming, and it gives me such hope and a fresh perspective.
It is moving season in our world again. I know that many of my military spouse friends are feeling anxious about starting this whole journey from the beginning. A lot of us are heading somewhere completely foreign to us and are worried about how we'll fare. Some of us are feeling withered because our dear friends are leaving for somewhere new while we stay behind. I know some of us are discouraged because we haven't made the connections that we hoped for after what we were sure would be a promising season. And most of us are just plain tired and wondering if it is worth the work. To dig deep. To establish roots. To weed out. To try to break through and grow. All over again.
Sweet friends, I just want to be an encouragement to you today. Don't ever stop tending the garden.
I promise you the late blooms are just as beautiful.
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