I felt like I was back in Seattle.
Rain poured down, canceling the Swiss Days parade in which my daughters were supposed to perform. By afternoon, clouds that had emptied themselves on the town were large enough to cover the sun, providing a much needed break from the heat.
I changed into my sweatshirt and watched five epsides of The Middle with my kids. Sometimes the days filled with no plans end up being those I remember most. A week ago we were making our way around a mall in Las Vegas, and I wondered what I was doing living in a desert.
Or more specifically, what am I doing living in Utah, surrounded by people with very different beliefs than mine. Nobody in Seattle really cared what church I belonged to or if I attended church. When lived on Capitol Hill, I met a few people who had started their own church. Anything goes in Seattle.
Utah is a lot more homogenous. But the kids are thriving here. They have made many friends and are doing well in school. There’s no way I could pull them out of school now just because I’d like to live elsewhere. Maybe down the road, but not now.
Although I have no doubts about my decision, I’m learning to be less combative and angry with those who now feel I’m a lost soul. I’m learning to be thankful and celebrate those friendships that didn’t change when my beliefs did.
This past week a relative reached out to me. She said she supported my decision and called me courageous. She doesn’t realize how much those few words mean to me. Maybe she will now.