Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Who I was then =/= Who I am now

I moved a lot as a kid, so I don't really have "roots" and get confused in answering the "Where ya from?" question.  Moving was fun, though, and I got to reinvent myself (as much as one can do at a young age) every few years.  It never bothered me until my wedding, when my spouse had childhood friends on his side and the only non-college friend I had was one from high school (the best friend, who is worth more than a whole bride's side). I felt deficient, like I couldn't hold on to friends.  The moves were for a short number of years, and I had my fair share of "friends forever" girlfriends, the friendships didn't last much after departure.  It didn't bother me for too long, and I quickly made new friends.

With this history in mind, I have tried to think about The Move as if it was just another one of my dad's job transfers, and I'll be fine because I always am.  But the last time I moved was almost a decade ago for college, and before that I'd lived with my parents.  There were people and institutions to cushion my fall and integrate me into the new environment.  What I guess I'm getting at, is I'm not a child any more.  I need to realize that the resilience of childhood is not going to be the magic bullet I'd like it to be as I'm reaching 30 and following someone who I'm not dependent on.

Now I'm in my mother's position.  She too had to move around every time my dad got a job.  Everytime I got transplanted, she did too.  So, I guess I should consider the four blogs (for four moves) that she might have written. 

But it's different? She's a homemaker, straight up, from a generation when women were still supposed to be the helpers but not the leaders.  She still believes that women shouldn't be heads of a church, and that feminism wasn't something she wanted to be a part of in the 70s.  I'm afraid if I asked her for advice, she'd just tell me I should stand by my man and go with the flow, let him take care of me.  Ok, she's not that old school, but the way she treats my dad is NOTHING like I treat my spouse.

Or is it?  Here we go back down that gender-roles slip-n-slide.

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