At Sea - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

At Sea

I was a sailor
in need of a sea -
hoping to set sail;
go searching for me.
Here in this small town
new port I have found -
and now I'm happy
to stay on the ground.
On terra firma
I'm learning a lot.
I'm finding much more than
the me that I sought.
Observing the goodness
in those around me
has helped me to lose
inhibitions - be free!
Not battling the waves
I feel suddenly strong;
No longer at sea -
I am found - I belong.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, July 18, 2018

It's been almost two years since we made our big move to a small town. We didn't know what to expect here, so we held our noses and belly-flopped into unknown waters. Our early days often felt more like sink than swim. We were thrust back into small town life after thirteen years of being city folk, and we were trying to figure things out - like how to renovate a huge old house, stay financially afloat, acclimatize ourselves to a new environment, and make new friends. It was daunting, but the kindness of strangers helped us through all the changes and challenges.

I came here with a whole lot of emotional baggage that I thought the people who befriended me could never understand, but as people listened kindly and shared their own stories I was reminded that I don't have a monopoly on disillusionment, disappointment or confusion. 

When I came here, I was going through an identity crisis - trying to figure out what I wanted from this new chapter of my life, and desperately hoping I could begin to feel a sense of belonging here. (Trust me - there were times when I felt that I couldn't have looked any odder if I'd been a crazy cat lady running around town advocating wearing metal helmets to keep space aliens from reading brainwaves.) There don't seem to be a lot of rhyming poet/bloggers in these parts...just how much of an oddball was I?

Gradually we became involved in a few things. My husband and I joined a Toastmasters group a few miles down the road, and discovered an amazing group of friendly, supportive people. We've found wonderful friends among this varied group, and enough confidence to speak our minds. A few small victories came my way while finding my voice as a speaker, and I've learned that sometimes I can surprise myself. (If I can play a half-way convincing Madam in front of an audience of a hundred, or don a tin-foil hat and pet a ceramic cat while addressing a room full of people - what more can I do?) Toastmasters has certainly helped me reconnect with my inner imp!

Last fall I joined the book club at our local library branch, and got to know some really lovely ladies. I might be the naysayer in the group - the outlier who loved the one book the rest hated and criticized the book they all loved - but they put up with me. Through our friendly discussions over tea and snacks, we've all discovered commonalities.

In the last year and a half my husband and I have gone to more funerals and visitations than we did in the previous decade. (I can deny that it helps that the funeral home is in sight from most of our windows.) We've experienced so much kindness and generosity here that we want our neighbours to know that we're thinking of them, and want to do what we can during difficult times.

Most of the people I've met here are kind, generous and hard-working. How many other places can you put out a call for someone to remove twenty bags of lawn waste and get three different offers in the space of a few hours? People are committed to being neighbourly here - they'll help you move furniture on a moment's notice, tell you where to find bargains, and recommend people for jobs you need done.

One day at the hardware store, my husband asked about how to fix something, only to have the store manager say he had one of those he never used - and the next day there it was at our back door!

When you are the recipient of that kind of generosity and kindness, you want to give back in whatever way you can.

Helping here isn't always as easy as making a casserole on your own time and dropping it at the door. It might mean giving hours of your time and going home with sore muscles. I've seen mountains moved here - mountains of yard waste, garbage and recycling - all moved by people who care enough to dig in and help each other. I've seen people literally pull together - bags full of weeds from an elderly neighbour's lawn - working tirelessly to get the job done.

I've learned that you start belonging the day you're asked to help out.

The people in my neighbourhood consistently set good examples of being service-oriented, and they make me want to be a more helpful person too. They're helping me find my best self. I might not ever be a "typical" small town housewife, but I've come to the conclusion that most people here are okay with my peculiarities. There's room here for a weirdo like me, a religion-less refugee from big city anonymity. As I try to repay kindness with plates of baking and return favours, I find myself less confused about what I have to offer, and ever more optimistic about the state of humanity.

Kindness begets kindness and acceptance begets acceptance. I can belong just because I want to.

In her book, The Gifts of Imperfection, Brene Brown writes, "True belonging only happens when we present our authentic, imperfect selves to the world, our sense of belonging can never be greater than our level of self acceptance."

The mysteries of my life are unraveling as I continue to find ways to knit myself into this community. I feel better about the direction I'm moving in than ever before. There are still conundrums to work out, but they don't seem to occupy as much of my head space now that I'm more engaged with good causes and great people.

Do I belong here because I've been accepted, or have I found my port because I've finally begun to accept myself?

All I know for certain is that I'm no longer at sea.