The Twilight Zone

As many of you who read this blog already know from Facebook and other sources, yesterday morning I accepted the position of Guest House Manager at Virginia Theological Seminary in Alexandria, Virginia. It means moving from this little corner of Connecticut where I have lived my entire 52+ years, with the exception of college. I have been many places, but I've never really lived anywhere else.

Even before I formally accepted the job, the world around me has been tinged with a heightened sense of clarity and an extreme sense of unreality. Or maybe it's extreme clarity and heightened unreality. Several times during the past few days I've found myself thinking or saying, "Not my issue any more." Over and over again I find myself thinking, "This may be the last time I..."

At the same time I am making lists, collecting boxes, and beginning the purge. Sunday I filled a large garbage bag with stuff and tossed it in the dumpster. I started sorting books to be given away or kept. I worried about moving somewhere warmer as I contemplated the winter garments in my closet. When would I get up this way for Dance Camp again? I keep reminding myself to stay focused on the immediate next steps.

Plan ahead, but stay focused.

As part of the purge, which I usually do at this time of year anyway, I went through my files. Clearly, there are things I will have no need for at the new job. Just as clearly, there are things to hang on to, for a little while longer anyway. One of the papers I came across was a liturgy from last month's NAECED (now Forma) conference, which took place before this job was even on the horizon. I'd just finished my term as both the board secretary and as a voting board member. I was beginning my year as a board advisor. On the sheet I'd written a note: "This is the beginning of the long good bye."

Little did I know.

So here I sit at the edge of something new. In the midst of the familiar, things are not the same. Like a summer twilight at the start of a new school year.