Has it been three years?

Next week marks the third anniversary of our move to Sandy from Boise.

Time is a strange thing; it’s relative, warped by our own perceptions. The time we’ve lived here seems both incredibly short and incredibly long. It’s short because, well, three years isn’t that long compared to my lifespan thus far, or the time period in which we’ve had kids. We’ve had every one of our current pets longer than that.

But it’s long, also, because of everything we’ve packed into that time. Multiple school years, summer vacations, sports practices and games, scout meetings, volunteer work, hikes, yard projects, visitors, church assignments, work projects, family reunions, and a myriad of other events and activities that seem to far exceed the time in which we crammed them.

It’s also been a time of significant change within our family. Our daughter has entered teenager-dom, and the older son is knocking on the door. We’ve gone from having three kids in elementary school to two in middle school. All three kids have matured considerably–three years at their ages is a considerable leap in maturity and size. They’ve all encountered opportunities that have helped them define who they are. It’s been amazing to watch the transformation.

I recall observing in past reminiscences that while my family seems to have found their place here I still felt detached. In some ways that remains true. I still have no close friends here. Thanks to technology I’m able to have even more fun with my close friends in Boise, and while I’m not at all complaining, I do wonder if that makes it easier to not make friends here. Why go out and seek what you do not lack? Especially when I’m finding my children are increasingly becoming my good friends.

But I do think I feel more settled. I belong here, even if I’m still not entirely comfortable with it. I know that sounds contradictory, but settled doesn’t necessarily mean comfortable. If nothing else, I have a hard time being comfortable simply because, no matter what I’m doing, I tend to feel like there’s something else I’m forgetting, that’s being neglected, or could be a better use of time. I’m not to the point of feeling like butter spread over too much bread like old Bilbo Baggins, but I’m often aware that every choice I make with my time comes at the cost of something else. I had time aplenty when I was young. That particular well is no longer infinite–it never was, but it’s finite-ness is becoming harder to ignore.

Don’t get me wrong; I like my life. I think things are going quite well much of the time. I have little to really complain about, and much to be grateful for. It’s said that the unexamined life is not worth living. If so, then these little introspective posts are a small price to pay for a life that is very much worth living.