moved (an essay)

Last updated on 10 January 2024

“Some journeys take you farther from where you come from, but closer to where you belong.” -Ron Franscell

There is a substantial difference between moving and moving on. The first is pretty easy. The second, at least for me, is not. 

It’s been six months since the movers packed up my 1940s two-bedroom apartment in Ann Arbor, MI, and ferried my furniture 650 miles south to Raleigh, NC. Though transferring my stuff was logistically simple, transforming my life has been much less so. 

It might be difficult to understand precisely why I made such a big move at this stage in my life. After all, most people my age are approaching retirement, enjoying the “empty nester phase” with their spouses with kids grown up and leading their own lives. They’re planning big trips and downsizing.

Here’s why I moved:

I had just gone through a devastating divorce. The breakup was so disruptive that I wanted to run away from everything, even myself. The place I had come to 33 years before and where I raised my three daughters no longer felt like home.

The streets I had driven on, the houses I had run so many miles past, and the places where I had celebrated so many great moments suddenly felt unfamiliar and unfriendly. I no longer belonged here.  

After my split, the streets I had come to know, the houses I had run so many miles past, and the places where I had celebrated so many great moments suddenly felt unfamiliar and unfriendly. I no longer belonged here. 

I believe we find places in our lives where we feel we belong. We have an internal compass that aligns with our ideas of what home is supposed to be. The truth is that I no longer felt that here. Even more than that, I no longer felt inspired here. 

I hoped that a change of location might also change my heart. But no distance guarantees transforming who we are. After six months here, I know that though the landscape is different I am largely the same person who left Michigan shaken and confused. I have not exactly “moved on.”

Beneath the disappointment I felt about my life also lay the embers of hope. The saying is if you keep doing what you’ve always done you will get what you’ve always gotten. Maybe I hoped that dramatically shifting where I lived could also seed internal changes. Maybe I hoped the more inviting climate would allow me to escape the seemingly never-ending Michigan winter gray that enveloped my soul. 

“Maybe knowing where you belong is not equal to knowing who you are.”-Jodi Picoult

Here’s how it started: During the separation and after my divorce, I sought solace on my bike. One October day while still living in Michigan I rolled into the countryside to the west, intending a longer ride to once again distract me from my hurt. The sun and clouds danced across the sky. Tall field grasses waved in a breeze. My breathing and my thoughts slid into an easy cadence with my pedals. 

Then the question came.

Why are you here?

I slowed and on this crisp, sunny day I listened. It was not my overthinking mind wrestling with an existential problem but something very different. I couldn’t decide whether the question came from my wise self, the Universe, or the guy passing me in his F-150. 

Why are you here?

On this ride I realized the place I came to decades before not considering it would become home for half my life, two failed marriages and three great children later, no longer held me. 

My three daughters are adults now. The oldest lived in Wisconsin and would move west to Colorado in March 2023. The younger two still live here. 

All three girls, er, women have infinitely practical sides as well as deeper parts that guide their life philosophies. Any parents who have more than one child will resonate when I say that even though they come from the same parents, each kid is magically different. 

I credit their mother with their ability to evaluate situations and dot “i’s” and cross “t’s”.  I, on the other hand, gave them the “wing it and figure out the details later” part. 

In my heart, I knew the answer with a kind of clarity…Though I whiffed badly as a father during a large portion of their lives, I was trying to make up and be the Dad they needed for where they are now.

Why are you here?

In my heart I knew the answer with a kind of clarity: I was living here only to be close to my two youngest daughters.  

Though I whiffed badly as a father during large portions of their lives, I was trying to make up and be the Dad they needed for where they are now. I was smarting from my divorce but at the same time, I was getting closer with each of them. We talked on the phone and went out for pizza or for drinks. They began sharing more about their lives in ways they couldn’t before. 

So I asked: what would our relationship be like if I no longer lived here? In their infinite wisdom, they answered:

“We got this, Dad,” one said. “We’re adults now. You deserve to be happy and live where you want to live. Go to North Carolina.” 

The other: “Planes, trains, and automobiles, Dad.” 

And the oldest, who at the time also was wrestling with leaving her safe but unfilling job and moving west shared her insights: often the risk is worth the reward.

They were the gift wrapped inside my disappointment. 

The truth is I needed a change and I hoped moving would provide the opportunity for that proverbial new chapter. 

But moving on is more than changing one’s address. The work is internal. And complex. 

“Whatever it is that you are searching for is ahead of you, so don’t let your past distract you and always continue to move FORWARD.”

-Roger Lee

While some are good at putting the past on a shelf or tossing it out like unwanted furniture, I am not. I hold onto not only the past but also past hopes for the future. 

What’s worse is that I beat myself up for all the things I could have, should have done differently to keep the marriage going and for every other failure. It’s as if my divorce put a magnifying glass on how I handled every situation in my life.

Despite all the changes I made in my location and my circumstances, I have remained stuck for now, holding onto visions of the future and hoping for things to be different. That is, though I see reality, I have refused to accept what it is showing me. 

When my ex and I were separating, I started therapy with someone who came highly recommended as an expert in trauma. We discovered in addition to the breakdown of my marriage trauma deeply rooted in my childhood. This was stuff I, like others, carry inside that affected how I approached the world, relationships, friendships, and pretty much everything in life without being aware of why. 

Of course, I have heard about trauma before but thought that it was reserved for victims of real sexual, emotional, and other physical abuse. 

This was not my experience though what I’ve learned is that trauma occurs even in the most “normal” households. Growing up, there was turmoil in my family; my father was a volatile, angry man and took it out on my older sister and me and my mother was emotionally unavailable to see me for who I was. I’m not blaming them. They did the best they could. What I’ve learned is that trauma occurs whenever one’s nervous system is overwhelmed and doesn’t know what to do. 

For a good bit of the past three years, I thought I was coming to terms with trauma from childhood and the end of my marriage. But close friends pointed out that what they think is more central to my experience now–and I hope this helps others–is grief. 

I have lived with grief before but this is different. I held my Mom’s hand as she died from pancreatic cancer when I was 22. I was there when her breath escaped her. I cried in buckets. I spent 10 years grieving her death.

My divorce was a different but no less poignant grief: Losing the future I so richly hoped for. Grieving over being replaced in my ex-wife’s life by someone new. The house we lived in. The street and the friends lost. 

With the split, in addition to relationships that were important to me, I lost an entire future. Things I counted as truths suddenly vanished in the paperwork processed in my divorce. I understand much better now why divorce can feel like trauma, but for me it really is grief.

This is the discernable difference between trauma and grief: In trauma, one is a victim. Harm is done to someone. One experiences grief. It’s not done to you so much as done through. you.

However, like many things in life, it hasn’t been all bad. I lost some relationships and some friendships, of course, as always happens in divorce. Former friends choose. Yet some relationships, as with my daughters and some close friends, became stronger. This would not have happened without the split. 

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.

-Seneca

What I’ve learned

The Universe (or God if you believe) may not give us what we want but instead what we need. My ex moving on is the closing of a door that I probably needed. I like to offer the same to anyone here: That door closing is the Universe offering something much bigger, much more solid in return. Want to know what that is?

For me, that door closing any hope of reconciliation is the ultimate sign of owning my life. There’s a now-famous YouTube video of Mel Robbins telling us no one is coming to save us. Our lives are our responsibility, solely and completely. 

I ponder this as I move about my new apartment in Raleigh, doing a little cleaning.

What if the Universe is giving us the lesson we need right now instead of what we want? What if, just what if, things can be better than our pain tells us? 

Every man’s life lies within the present; for the past is spent and done with, and the future is uncertain.”

-Marcus Aurelius

I’ve read dozens of books and listened to many podcasts about breakups, divorce, and transitions. Want me to summarize them all and save you the time in one thought?

Breakups happen for a reason. Moving on is the best way to serve you and heal your soul. 

Good luck my friend. See you on the road to “moving on.” 

Until soon.