Pillars of Salt

I lived through my first semester of PhD school. Right now, I can't remember the last time I felt so free and un-stressed. Of course, I am not completely satisfied with everything I have accomplished, but when am I ever? I always take too long and worry about things out of my control, but overall, I feel a sense of peace that is very relaxing.

It's been a crazy year, looking back. Being unemployed and uninsured was basically as horrifying as I imagined it would be, but I got through it and I am grateful to the friends and family who made sure I was not homeless as well. I have been in my own little apartment for four months now, and I am amazed at how much I like living by myself. It is soothing to come back to my own space with no emotions but my own to confront. (Territorializing; defining my own habits, constructing my own home.)

I used to think that leaving a place was like the story in Genesis where Lot and his family flee from the destruction of Sodom. "Don't look back," the angels told them. "Otherwise you will perish." But Lot's wife looked back and turned to a pillar of salt. I always felt sympathy for her. Poor nameless woman, torn out of her home and forced into the wilderness. What was wrong with a look back? Apparently, that look meant she was not trusting, that she doubted, that she was discontent. So many terrible explanations for a natural, human action. We care about places, we care about people. We care when we have to let go. It is okay to look back.

For too many moves, I thought that I had to leave without looking back, or my own grief would overwhelm me. This is not exactly the most healthy of attitudes. Sorting through how to be in North Carolina (and enjoying it) while missing Philadelphia is strange. I'm not sure how to stay connected to both places, as if I have to chose only one. Maybe the pillar here is not one of sorrow, but of achievement. I made it, I transitioned onwards, and I can come back.

This weekend I spent time with my best friend from childhood. She lived next door to us in Fayetteville, her dad was in the air force. When my family moved abroad, her family took our dog. She's back in Fayetteville now, and it was strange and amazing to see her. Maybe nothing is lost, and we will find all our pillars marking every move eventually. I like to think of these pillars as memorials of change, not of complete destruction.