Moving to a new house in a new community is stressful. I’ve already mentioned all the physical work involved in packing and unpacking. Then there’s the mental work of having to make choices all day every day, be it choosing a new lamp or a new hair stylist.
Here is one more piece of stress no one tells you about when you move: you will not know anyone. I mean, anyone. It’s a good thing I like my husband, John, because I go for days on end not talking to anyone but him. Unless you count the grocery clerk or the dental hygienist attempting to clean my teeth while I chat, I literally talk only to John, my daughter, my son-in-law, and my grandson. Oh, and my beloved pickleball group. This is a pretty unsettling situation. I know there is not much I can do about it, except be open to new friendships that will develop over time. At least that is what they tell me.
So, it was with great surprise and even greater joy that a woman looked my way, smiled, and said “Hi!” to me this weekend at the local Farmers’ Market. I reflexively turned and looked over my shoulder to see who she might be greeting. No one was there. It was me she was greeting! I nearly ran over and hugged her.
I remembered that this person, Nancy is her name, is someone I once played pickleball with. She saw me, she remembered me, she acknowledged me, she was happy to see me. My first greeting.
It is really hard to not be known, and I hadn’t expected how hard that would be. And so, it was a great JOY to have someone know me. I hope it keeps happening. It will.