Wrangler Dani

We’ve had some changes up in here, folks. The desk from which I used to regale you has been commandeered by my handsome Hubster, who is now working from home in our new little life. I’m hoping for a desk soon, but in the meantime I’m sitting at the dining room table, looking out the window at clear blue skies and a cute little tree filled with chirping birdies. The breeze coming in said window is a bit colder than I’m used to, but what can I expect with snow-capped mountains in the distance instead of the expansive Pacific?

Speaking of the obvious, did you know that every tiny thing you own, from paperclips to water bottles, has to be put in a box when you move? And that those items get together in mysterious ways and have large broods of insufferable, cluttery, dust-collecting children? Well, it’s true, my friends. I have learned something very valuable about myself while moving: I am a foodie and have way too many spices, tools, glasses, and serving dishes of all sizes – and I never, ever throw away a t-shirt. I’m trying to figure out how to combine these two oddities into some cohesive revelation, but there’s really nothing there. I like wearing  t-shirts from Freshman Formal 2002, and I like making fancy dishes with two different kinds of truffle oil and Hawaiian salt. (shrugs shoulders)

We’re starting to settle in though. It’s amazing what a night snuggled on the couch with your honey will do for your soul when you’ve been hauling, taping, driving, crying, saying goodbye and toting God-knows-what up and down stairs for two weeks. I’ve never been so happy to go back to work as I was this morning – it felt so healthy and normal to sit down with a full to-do list and a cup of coffee – in stark contrast to the wildness of life lately.

But do you know what I appreciate about moving? It shakes me up. I’m dreaming big dreams – ones that make me choke up and live hopefully. I’m throwing away things that I used to hold tightly to – simply because they aren’t worth carrying anymore, they can’t save me the way I thought they could. Adam and I keep joking about all of the free time we’ll have because we don’t have any friends here – it’s heartbreaking to think of (hence the jokes, we like to laugh at pain) but it’s also filled with possibility. What will pour out of me when I don’t have a girlfriend to meet for coffee? Can I share those thoughts with you, Internet? Do I dare believe that I’m the same person when alone or when surrounded by laughing, loving faces?

Moving is hard, but what does this new life look like? I’m not sure, but I know we’re here for a reason. We felt drawn, called, pulled, pushed, kicked out – to what? What is here in the rivers and mountains that we need to find?