the found weekend

I kind of felt like I'd lost my voice over the past few weeks.  Moving back to Athens, Georgia, felt akin to re-settling unto an old creek that was at once both soothing and fearful.  Things were happening around me, this gentle rocking of a metaphorical ship, and I didn't have to speak much to illicit joy.  Meals eaten, glasses of wine clinked, and steps and steps tread in between a little house and campus.  This town welcomed me back with open arms, and for that I am grateful.  I knew that I felt different, though.  It was similar to reuniting with a lost lover you didn't expect to see again so soon.  It became clear to me, a few weeks in, that I needed to carve a new niche for myself--all around, with those I care about, and within my own heart.

This weekend I found my new voice.  Yesterday afternoon, a gathering of old friends turned into a re-discovery of sorts with the addition of my friends Michelle and David's tiny daughter Singer--who is three months old, a wide-eyed pudgy wonder.  

Cocktails and fish tacos carried us through to an impromptu dance party.  And I can't describe the feeling adequately, but I finally sensed that I had a grasp on my time here.  I have the most wonderful friends.  They are smart, and full of life.  And we are growing up every day.  I can piece together the collective wisdom, and it's a lot to draw on.

So I woke up this morning and put together a day that a younger version of myself would have scoffed at.  I made coffee, barreled The Platters through the speakers in the dining room, and commenced a deep clean of the house.  I simmered a homemade pasta sauce on the stove while I graded exams.  I've found a great deal of peace through cooking lately.  My domestic and introspective karma was rewarded, though, with a phone call that two old and very dear friends had made it into town for a surprise visit.  We spent this afternoon on the back porch of my friend Catherine's house with the grill lit and ice cold beer at our feet, sharing stories on what became a fairly perfect summer day.  

The thing is (and any of you readers who know me well already know this, I'm sure), I have spent A LOT of my life lamenting my own analytical nature.  And I've spent a lot of time pining away for things that the universe just wasn't ready to throw my way yet.  On a weekend like this, confident in the small things that make my life rich, I am at once aware of my own maturation.  

I write to you while streaming the new Bon Iver album, which I recommend with reckless abandon.  There's a light on my porch, a rocking chair, and so many words to write.  The rest of them I'll write in private for now.

Cheers to comfort in our own skins--