“There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket – safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”
– C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves
It’s easy to move when you aren’t attached to anyone. Pick up your things, pack your bags, go. But what about when you are? When you’ve invested in friends who’ve become family? Then, certainly, your heart is wrung out and broken.
LA was home for 10 years. Two months out, I still speak of LA and my former church and former roommates as if it is still current in my life. “At our church we…” Not anymore. I am no longer a part of that church. I no longer live in LA. I am no longer part of the internships team. Those statements feel like garments that shouldn’t fit, but do.
My current locale isn’t home – a long time ago, it was; now, it’s unfamiliar. I make wrong turns. I am surprised at what businesses are or are not here. And two months from now, an entirely new place will be home – and much more startlingly new than any place I’ve been before.
Leaving LA feels like tearing part of myself away – I feel whole and myself, I feel fractured and not myself. Transition = not fully out of one place, not fully in another. And I’m in for a long season of being in transition.
But for now, a lot of my life looks like this: