We bought a house! Rather, we have an accepted offer on a house and we are waiting to sign the purchase agreement, but it all seems to be progressing in the right direction.

In some ways, and this feels dramatic to write, it feels like all my life decisions have pointed me in this direction, to this location. As a kiddo interested in Zen Buddhism and feeling like a biracial outsider in my hometown, I longed for big cities and travel. Instead, my first job took me to South Florida, which was just as great as going to a big city—so much diversity, opportunity, art, good friends…always something to do and somewhere to go. I didn’t even know how good I had it until we had to leave. I don’t think I would have ever left if life hadn’t pushed us along. Spence took a buyout from the newspaper where we met and I was unemployed while finishing my MFA. He accepted a job in central Illinois and we moved. I remember traveling with him when he went on his interview. We went to one of the parks in the midwestern city and I cried silently. Back in the midwest. The place I had escaped. I was thankful he had a job again, but not at all pleased to be back in the midwest.

Of course, one of the many many many many things you learn as you get older is that nothing is without nuance. The midwest of my childhood—the place that was at once rural and beautiful but also where I experienced exclusion and racism—is not a monolith. It does not represent all the midwest, and even my hometown and the surrounding area had more opportunity than I recognized when I was young and distracted by my desire to be elsewhere. In this new part of the midwest, I became involved in an art collective, met some of my closest friends and accepted my first full-time job in higher education. The colleagues I worked with there actively helped me develop the skills and talents I would need for every job I accepted thereafter.

Nine years after that first full-time job in higher education, I’m about to move for the third time, I hope to our last home, because I’ve accepted a job that lets me use all my interests (writing, photography, storytelling) in support of a mission I champion completely (educating female, trans, and nonbinary students). I’ve been in the position for a year and have enjoyed it thoroughly, working with great teammates and feeling like I have support and autonomy. If all goes well, we will be closing on the one year anniversary of my starting the job.

And to circle back to why this feels a bit like divine intervention—I’ve never had the opportunity to study Buddhism with great intention. It was always on my own time, reading books, meditating, trying to remember the Four Noble Truths and live the Eight Fold Path. I’ve also become a devoted vegan after spending most of my life as a vegetarian; this includes working on behalf of animal rights in ways that feel best suited to my talents. As I’ve grown, I’ve learned I love silence, being close to nature, bird watching. The girl who thought she needed the big city is actually perfectly fine with visiting big cities and then retreating to her wooded oasis. This new house is surrounded by four acres of woods (that we own!) and is then buffered by a conservation area. If you look at a satellite map (pictured above), you see our driveway and then nothing but green. But it is also 15 minutes from Worcester, where there are so many vegan restaurants, and a vegan animal rights group I connected with through social when I first moved to New England. And there is also a Zen temple! I’ve attended my first meditation/dharma talk and hope to get more and more involved. All while also living an hour from Boston (and Worcester has some great art/food places, too).

Addressing the title of this blog post—I feel almost nauseated with gratitude sometimes. Like, I don’t even know where to begin to pay it all back. The Roshi at the dharma talk this week talked about generational trauma. How the lives of your ancestors and how they respond to trauma affects and shapes you in ways you may not even know. I think of my mom and my paternal grandma, who had difficult childhoods. My dad who experienced so much violence in Vietnam when he was only 18/19. My mom’s grandmother, who was poor and lost so many of her children before they were teenagers, and who’s only recourse of action (or so she felt) was violence against the grandkids she was caring for (my mom and her brother). But I think of my life…of the freedom I’ve had, the encouragement, the support. Of how everything that has led me here is predicated on my decisions, my parents’ decisions, their parents’ decisions and so on. It feels utterly miraculous and my heart aches with gratitude. My immediate family overcame and lived with so much and provided me the ability to follow my heart and encouraged me to do so. Generational gratitude. I wish to spend the rest of my days saying Thank You to them in action and deed.