I Moved Again (November 2024 Life Update)

Hello hello, dear blog readers. It’s a crisp, cool, sunny day in Chattanooga, TN, and I’m here to tell you that yes, I moved again.

Probably not for the last time, but hopefully for the almost-last time.

In the last few years, I’ve grown weary of explaining my life to people, which is why I’ve lived here almost a month and yet have not mentioned my move anywhere online.

Slight Tangent: Thoughts About Small Talk

Lately I’ve been thinking about how most small talk can quickly and tragically turn into Deep Serious Talk making things awkward for all strangers involved.

Example:

Q. Oh, what do you do for work?

A. Um…I just lost my job.

Or,

Q. Oh, you’re new here? What brings you to this church?

A. Er, well, I’m recently divorced and my ex started bringing my children to this church and I want more stability for them so I decided to bring them here too.

(This is why I’m a big fan of talking about the weather, sports, endless road construction, and Wordle scores, and am trying to build a repertoire of impersonal small talk questions, like “when is the last time you sneezed?”)

Anyway. Small talk question #1 I’ve been asked since deciding to move here is, “why Chattanooga?” which is difficult to explain and brings up a whole host of personal feelings regarding the crippling isolation and loneliness I’ve felt the past 5-7 years.

You see, as I’ve moved around trying this place and that place, I’ve developed a Theory of Places, and my move to Chattanooga was based on this theory.

Emily’s Theory of Places

There are a lot of things that make a place pleasant to live, such as cute coffee shops, low taxes, general affordability, walkability, people who share your values, great weather, convenient swimming holes, and interesting places to explore. But the real thing, the main thing, is the community.

Unfortunately, it can be incredibly difficult to find your community in a new place.

Last summer at a family reunion I asked my female cousins how long it took them, after they married and moved to a new area with their husbands, to really feel like they were part of a community.

One cousin, who moved to a big Mennonite community where her husband had connections, said it took about two years. Another cousin, who moved to her husband’s community in a remote part of the Midwest, said she felt part of the community instantly. But for one of my cousins, who moved to a place where neither she nor her husband had connections, community was a huge struggle, and it took about fourteen years to feel connected.

It’s easy to think that with determination and zeal, you can find your people anywhere. And I think you can…but despite your best efforts, it might take fourteen years.

So what makes the difference between an instant community, a two-year community, and a fourteen-year community?

Based on my observations and research, I believe it comes down to the following two factors:

1. Connection points. This might be people you already know who live in the area, or it might be institutions like church, your job, or a community activity you participate in.
2. People who want new friends.

You might move to a place where you know several people, but if it’s an established Mennonite community where everyone already has their friends and doesn’t need more, it might be really hard to find your people. But if you move to a small community where people are desperate for more friends, you might be surprised at how quickly you’re connected.

And connection has a snowball effect. The more connections you make, the easier it is to make even more connections.

But some places, I’m sorry to say, are 14-year places. You try and try. You go to church after church, trying to find a place you can plug in without driving for an hour every Sunday. You go to random events at the library. You send a message to another writer who pops up in your community Facebook group, asking to get coffee.

The problem with 14-year communities is that when you find yourself churchless because you don’t want to go to a church that prays to Mary, or when the local writer cancels the meetup, you still feel like your lack of friends is your fault somehow.

It doesn’t feel possible that any community could truly be a 14-year community. Surely if you just tried harder.

There were things I loved about living in Houston. I liked being able to walk along the bay every day. I liked being 45 minutes from the beach. I loved living with Matt and Phoebe. I enjoyed warm sunny weather in the winter. I loved the game nights with our friends Ryan and Tiffany. But after two years in Houston they were my only true friends, and then they moved 45 minutes away to a different part of town where they had more community and connections.

Houston was a 14-year place, and I don’t want to live in an 14-year place. I’m impatient. And lonely.

Chattanooga

My cousin Jason moved to Chattanooga…I don’t know…seven years ago maybe? Anyway, earlier this year I got this idea in my head, like, oh, maybe I should move to Chattanooga too!

Which, I mean, I’m the type of person who thinks maybe I should move here! any time I visit anywhere, so it was a pretty unserious thought at first. But then Jason, out of the blue, texted me about a friend of his who was looking for roommates.

When I told him that I might actually be interested, he told me I should come visit for a week, meet his friends, go to his church, and see how I like the area.

Because of timing issues it didn’t work for me to move in with his friend, but as soon as I visited it was abundantly clear that this was not a 14-year place. It might even be a less-than-1-year place.

1. Connection points: Jason’s church, Jason’s friend group, Jason’s writer’s group, all of which contained different people.
2. People who want new friends: not everyone I met, but at least a few people from each group.

The math was mathing. The choice was easy.

Between Then and Now

The decision was easy but the logistics were a little difficult.

First, I knew I wanted to still go to Oregon for the summer. About the time I went to Oregon, Grandma moved in with my parents. She’s pretty independent and self-sufficient, but once when we weren’t home she went on a walk, lost her balance, fell on her face in the middle of the road, and couldn’t get up.

After that, we didn’t want to leave her alone for long periods of time. This was a lot easier to manage with three other people in the house instead of two, so I didn’t want to make plans to move away as long as Grandma was living with us.

It worked out for her to move in with my Aunt Rosie at the end of the summer. But it was still a struggle trying to find housing in Chattanooga while being in Oregon, especially since I wasn’t able to move immediately⁠⁠—I still had to go back to Houston and pack up my stuff.

I eventually found a place, but by then I’d already scheduled another trip. So I had the craziest October, first flying from Oregon to Houston, then, two weeks later, going on a 10-day trip that involved a work obligation in Pennsylvania, visiting friends in Maryland, and going to Rachel/Striped Pineapple‘s wedding in NYC.

On day 8 of the trip I, predictably, got sick, and then once I got back to Houston I had less than a week to pack up and move to Chattanooga.

Now What?

My 10-day trip, especially the time I spent in NYC, was really wonderful despite the fact that I made no plans besides where I’d stay and how I’d get there. Everything felt so chaotic and I just thought, once I get to Chattanooga, everything will calm down and life will be wonderful.

But then I moved and instead of life being calm and wonderful, it was full of questions like:

• Why is my car acting strange?
• Where can I find a reputable mechanic?
• Did I leave my umbrella in Houston?
• Did I leave my good knife in Houston?
• Why am I having so many feelings?
• What the bunnyslipper am I even feeling?

I forgot that this is just what happens when you move. I feel much more settled now, after being here three and a half weeks, but I still miss my umbrella and my good knife.

Gratefulness

I feel really, deeply grateful this Thanksgiving. I’m just…I’m really happy to be here. So far, Chattanooga has lived up or perhaps even exceeded my expectations. My theory of places holds up.

I’m living in the most gorgeous place imaginable, up on a mountain overlooking the city where all the streets are named after fairy tale characters. I’m living with a couple in their early 70s who are friends with my Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Rod.

I really knew very little about them when I moved in. (They told me that they had an advantage…they were able to read my book and get to know me ahead of time that way, haha.) But it’s all worked out swimmingly, and I love living with them.

Another thing I’m grateful for is living within walking distance of a Starbucks.

Although it must be confessed, while this Starbucks is aesthetically pleasing and in a great location, it has the most incompetent workers I’ve ever encountered. (Sorry workers, if you’re reading this. I’m sure you’re doing your best!)

If you’re wondering what’s going on in the above picture…why it looks like I have two drinks…no, I’m not here with a companion. I was buying a hot tea using my points. Since a medium tea (with two tea bags) is just as many points as a small tea (one tea bag,) I asked for a medium tea in my mug, with the second tea bag on the side.

You know. To use later, in case of a tea-mergency.

Maybe that’s a strange/confusing thing to ask? But no other Starbucks barista has ever seemed confused by it. They just put one tea bag in my mug, fill it with hot water, and hand me the other tea bag, unopened, on the side.

This barista opened both tea bags, put one in my mug and one in a medium-sized to-go cup, put water in the to-go cup (defeating the purpose of my bringing my own mug), and handed me both.

She seems like a lovely person and I don’t have the heart to be upset but it’s just funny to me that something of that nature happens nearly every time I come in here, even though it’s a different barista each time.

Oh wait, I’m gonna keep rambling

On the drive up to Tennessee, when I was driving 55 mph in a 70 mph zone because my car was vibrating excessively at high speeds (turns out a belt in my tire broke? I didn’t know that was thing), I heard an old country song while flipping through radio stations and suddenly felt so nostalgic for the train trip I took last year.

I know I’ve been promising to write about that trip for ages. The problem is that the older I get, the more of a perfectionist I become about my writing. And it’s a long story. Like, I could almost turn it into a book, only I don’t want to, because I have so many other books I want to write more.

So what I’ve been doing is posting it in bits and pieces on my Patreon. Eventually, once the whole thing is written, I’ll post it on my main blog here.

Oh, and speaking of Patreon, here’s a general PSA:

If you want to subscribe to anything, whether it’s Netflix, Youtube Premium, a music streaming service, anything…you should subscribe in your browser, not through an app on your phone.

Why?

Well, Apple charges a 30% fee for any transaction made in the app store, and Google Play charges something similar. Which means that most companies compensate by making the monthly charge more if you purchase through an app than if you purchase through your browser (you can learn more about the system by watching this video).

I got an email from Patreon saying that this now also applies to Patreon subscriptions made through the Patreon app on iPhones. So if you subscribe through your browser it’s still $1 a month, but it might be slightly more if you get it through an app, and all that extra money goes to Apple, not to me or Patreon as a company.

Yeah. Fun times we live in.

Anyway, back to the topic of country music: Ever since that nostalgic song came on the radio, I’ve found myself listening to quite a bit of country or country-ish music. It’s funny to me because I’ve never really liked country music, but I get the urge to listen to it whenever I’m driving combine.

Not being on a combine, I didn’t understand my current urge, until I realized that of course, I’m in Tennessee, not that far from Nashville. Probably there’s something in the air that’s like, okay girl, time to turn to a country station.

Although, for the sake of honesty, I have to admit that I’m not technically living in Tennessee. I’m just across the border in Georgia. To get to the nearest Georgia library I have to drive into Tennessee and then back out of it again. My third day here I accidentally walked into Tennessee when I took a wrong turn on my walk.

My first time walking across a state border.

Anyway, I suppose that’s my last ramble for now. Have a great Thanksgiving everyone!