First you need to know I loved my life in Minnesota. Gorgeous old home in a fabulous Minneapolis neighborhood called East Isles, lots of interesting younger housemates, a wide circle of much-loved friends, and meaningful work as a housing consultant and colorist. Our front porch a gathering place for friends, the house a place of connection. Our cats Beau and Princess even got Christmas cards from the neighbors. It was an idyllic life, and I yet… I wanted more. I didn’t know what “more” looked like…. Or was. Or is-even at this stage for that matter. Still looking. For something. And maybe someday I’ll know just what that something is…. But for now, I’m still in search mode. And …. yet content with life as it evolves.
So how did I end up in Minnesota and why did I stay so long? Cliff notes to that part of the story.
At age 26 I left a much-loved teaching job in Delaware at Wilmington Friends and my homey apartment with two wonderful roommates to come to Minnesota. I left Delaware for two reasons: a broken heart and my mixed up parents needed me. My Mother, Liz, a functional alcoholic, had not spoken to my step-father Bill in six months. And they lived together. In the same house, and even shared the same double bed. All conversations went thru Jenny, my Mother’s black wire-haired terrier. I pictured weird conversations. My step-father Bill wants to know what’s for dinner so muses to Jenny the dog “I wonder what’s for dinner tonight?” Mother would respond “Jenny,we’re having meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner and you’ll get the nummy left overs. In retrospect I can laugh, at the time I felt so responsible for their happiness and future….
I am the girl child, the first child, the one responsible for family dynamics, and of course said yes when Bill asked for help. So… broken-hearted, but feeling purposeful, I hopped in my 1967 pale blue Volkswagen Beetle and drove halfway across the country to St. Paul, Minnesota. For what I thought was the summer….
45 years later… I was still in Minnesota. Now, far older and a tiny bit smarter, I knew that changing places and spaces does nothing to make you happy, unless you know what you want. The old saw of “Wherever you go, there you are”, is true. But…, this time I was different. No misery, broken heart, or troubled parents. Just me. And I have to say that because the decision was all mine-emphasis on the all mine part-made me anxious. Was I making a monster sized mistake to leave my friends, the familiar, and all the emotional connections that kept me sane and happy for the unknown?
To deal with the am I nuts to actually leave Minnesota question rattling noisily around in my brain, I decided to go to therapy. To sort thru what I wanted, and to make what I hoped would be a smart and rational decision about the stay or leave question. The therapist was perfect. A minister, philosophical and balanced, feisty, kind, knowledgeable, and about as non-judgemental as you can get. She was my go to person after a broken engagement that left me devastated when I was in my early 60’s and for dealing with the long-term fallout of my parents general craziness as I cared for them in their last years on earth. She knew me well. And had seen me thru many a box of Kleenex. Kathryn is calm, a great listener. Meeting once a month for a year of thoughtful conversations solidified my confidence that my desire to leave was not a run away, but a move toward a new life.
The process of actually leaving turned was relatively easy. As easy as almost any decision is once made. The key is deciding. Then acting. That big old house I owned-rehabbed and decorated to the nines-was totally my baby. Former general contractor turned designer had given me the skills to turn 3300 sq feet of benign neglect into a magazine worthy beauty. I spent twenty years remaking every inch of her, and almost two years getting ready to leave. That meant cleaning and sorting thru a lifetime, and in the end packing up much-loved items and moving everything to Matt’s Moving and Storage. The sum total of my life possessions now occupies a 8’ x 10’ warehouse space and costs $250.00 per month. Not everything ended up at Matt’s. Many of my young friends are “storing” some of the 56 art pieces that used to grace the walls of 1516. And where did I store me post-house? With friends. I lived-and still do with my very close designer friend MJ and her husband Bruce-called BC- when I am in Minnesota. Many years ago MJ and I used to date some of the same men-but wisely never at the same time. Anyone who knows us laughs at the story. MJ is a brilliant kitchen and bath designer, able to see solutions others simply miss or cannot imagine. She is talented in ways I deeply appreciate. We met at a dinner party at her apartment some 43 years ago. Our dates long forgotten, we saw something interesting in each other and grew closer over time and life. Her now husband was my best friend, and I encouraged that romance big time. They’ve been married for 37 years, and have two adult children so my brief tenure as a Yenta appears to have been successful.
Last night while out walking from my kitty sitting job at 31st and Grand to Lake Calhoun I ran into a woman friend who is trying to decide where to live. We are contemporaries, both 73. She wants to go east to be with her grown children. But is afraid. Of leaving, and… of staying. I told her I saw a therapist for a year before I left town. Told her why I saw Kathryn and how she was able to help me sort thru complicated issues. The idea resonated with her, and when we parted ways, she said therapy now made sense to her. Now. I hope she will find a way to feel content with any choice—whether it means staying or leaving- the tundra.
What a great explanation of how you got where you are today. It takes a lot of courage to do what you did. We’re all proud of you.