one month later

It's official...i've been a resident of San Francisco for one month. It's a funny thing, though, I can't determine if I'm better or worse than I was the day I got here. Surly I'm much more familiar with where I am...streets are familiar, I've become slightly more proficient at navigating public transportation, my roommates and I have spent time bonding and rearranging the furniture, and seeing scott daily isn't such a bizarre (though wonderful) shock. "Familiar" is the key word in the last run-on sentance...but familiar doesn't necessarily mean comfortable, nor does it indicate belonging. The most difficult part of this adjustment has been learning to take each day, each new morning, on a case by case basis. Never have I felt the juxtiposition of being so thrilled by my life and yet so lonely, homesick, and in need of direction all in one day...even one hour or one overwhleming swell of feeling. Some days, I love San Francisco- not just as an incredible city, but as my place in this world. I feel this when I'm hiking or driving across the bridge for work...lounging in Golden Gate Park...chatting with fellow yogis...out for a night on the town with my sweetheart. Other days, the fog rolls in and I want to roll out. I don't want to go home, but I want to go back to Spring Quarter. I want to go back to being nestled in Bellingham, surrounded by people I love dearly and can't get enough of. I know that everything is different, and life is not just carrying on without me, but I also feel like I may get lost, bypassed in SF and spend too much time trying unsuccessfully to figure out how I want to make my mark on this world, how I want to grow and gain and thrive in this city. Some days I feel like a wreck...continuously on the edge of tears, not being able to pinpoint the lump in my throat and the tightness in my chest...being frusterated and upset at the littlest things and blaming Scott, only to turn around and be scared to death I'm going to loose him- my reason for moving, my rock when nothing else seems firm. I left yoga yesterday, feeling shaking and queezy in the hot room, after only half an hour. I was crushed that the one thing I relied on to calm me only made me feel worse. I rolled up my mat and snuck out the side door, sweat rolling down my back and tears rolling down my face. I feel so unfamiliar to myself that I'm unable to stretch...what an analogy. I'm trying to allow myself to just feel, to know that I am entitled to the physical and emotional reactions to everything I knew being changed compleatly. I'm attemping to recognize the feelings, to take them head on, to be there for myself, and to know that even though every day is not better, every day is different and it is meeting all these kinds of "different" that will eventually help me to regain my sense of self (which I have been missing latly) and finally regain my balance as well.