Reactions

When I tell people that I’m leaving my current life for Oregon, they generally say something along the lines of, “OREGON? Why?”  I explain to them my love for my family, the landscape, the endless outdoor opportunities, how God always seems about a million miles closer when the biggest interstate around is I-5 and Mt. Hood is hovering in the nearby distance.

The reactions from my coworkers have been all over the place.  Most of them are very supportive, citing the obvious: I’ve been talking about leaving for Oregon for the past four years.  I am young, childless, and in no position to settle down, get married, or settle for the life that is normal here in Indiana: marriage, kids, live your whole life in one zip code, and never really do anything worth writing home about.  Unless, of course, you visit Gatlinburg.  [I HATE Gatlinburg.  Gatlinburg is one giant pool of “we settled,” in my humble opinion.] But I digress.

My family has a little bit of a different opinion on the whole ordeal.  When I say, “I’m leaving Indianapolis for the Pacific Northwest,” my grandma and parents automatically experience a heavy dose of déjà vu—my aunt and uncle packing up their lives, driving to Washington, and changing the sense of family that the aforementioned loved ones previously knew.  As far as I can tell as an outsider, this comes with a wave of emotional scab-ripping.  Abandonment.  Broken relationships.  Broken hearts.  Saying goodbye to someone you love and care about, not knowing when or if you will see them again, because it’s a rough business getting two adults and two small children across the 2000 mile stretch that spans the distance between Seattle and Indianapolis.  Clearly, my announcement that I was actually going to leave caused some tears.  That’s probably an understatement.  I’m giving my parents major props for only taking two weeks to stop being mad at me and start asking questions about my impending move.

I had a peer at work tell me today that she is worried about me—a new nurse going all by myself to a place where I don’t know anyone, and I may not know what to do.  I could choose to be slightly offended by this statement, or I could try to understand the origins of her concern.  I know she didn’t mean to say that I’m a worthless nurse.  She has a point, though.  In this new ER, with staff that doesn’t know me, hasn’t brought me up in their ways, and could be openly hostile to new people, I am going to have to work my ass off.   I’m going to have to get it together, learn as much as I possibly can, and remember everything all in the span of a couple of weeks.  I no longer have a reputation that gives me any kind of benefit of a doubt.  I’m no longer favored by management.  I’m now the new girl.  I have something to prove: that I am an asset to this organization.  That I’m a competent nurse.   Hell, that I can keep up.

The point I’m trying to make is that this move is not sponsored by the opinions of others.  Everything that happens from here on out is between God and me.  And, I am responsible for the outcome of this great adventure.  You hear it all the time: “You get what you give.”  That is so true.  To leave everything I know and move 2000 miles away to a town where I know a grand total of four people, start a new job that will no doubt prove to be a challenge (I haven’t been new for almost four years!), and on top of that, to drive to this location by myself—this is a gamble.  It’s scary.  It’s a major risk.  It’s not approved by the people whose opinions I respect more than most.  But the payoff—oh, the payoff.   Even if, in three months, I find myself back in the Hoosier state because I miss my family (and those puppies!) too much to be away, I will be able to say that I did this.  Regardless of what anyone else thought or said about it, I put myself out there.  I existed outside of my comfort zone, because I knew that I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t follow my dreams.  And to me, this “most excellent adventure” is infinitely worth it.