Home in the Valley

We've been back from the beach for a few days now.  I knew it would be hard to come home.  I miss the relaxed beach routine, the cable (particularly the craptastic reality shows - it's good we don't have cable), the seafood, the break from housekeeping, the time with family.  I don't miss the sand all over everything.  I do miss the lovely sound of the waves.

But there are bright things about being home.  Our comfortable (read: jumbly) space, our familiar stuff, our regular routine.  And the mountains.  We've lived here for more than a year now, and it still amazes me sometimes that I'm living in the mountains.  Not big mountains, mind you.  I'm sure many out west would just consider them hills.  But they are lovely mountains, nonetheless.  Our city is in a valley, so driving through the city, focusing on the road in front of me, it's not immediately obvious we're in the midst of mountains.  Until I look up.  And sometimes, still, I catch my breath.

I lived in a valley once before.  For about 6 months after college, I lived in Tuzla, Bosnia.  Tuzla is a bit different than Roanoke.  The valley is smaller, the mountains more obvious, the city more crowded.  It was a fascinating place, and I didn't think much about the fact that I was in a valley until I traveled to Zabreb, Croatia.  Zagreb is flatter, still crowded, but with open space surrounding the city.  I remember driving through that open space for the first time and feeling like suddenly I could breathe.  The openness was so refreshing, life-giving, hopeful.  For the first time, I understood why people find the plains beautiful.  Why some people find the abundantly green and tree-filled Eastern US to be claustrophobic.  Because that's how I felt in Tuzla - claustrophobic.  For bigger reasons than the scenery, but the landscape seemed to mirror my psyche.

So I never imagined myself going back to the mountains for more than a visit.  But here I am.  And this time, the mountains don't mirror my psyche - they encourage me to come out of my psyche, to look up and out. 

I'm not good at moving.  Never have been, despite how much practice I've had.  It's easy for me to curl up into myself.  To focus too much on my discomfort, my frustration, my fear, my wishing.  I lean toward melancholy.  But sometimes as I'm driving home, I look up and find the mountains.  And sometimes, when I'm paying attention, they remind me of the wideness, the bigness, the beauty in the world.  Somehow, here in this valley, the mountains are refreshing, life-giving, hopeful.  They remind me to be breathe.