The first thing I did when I arrived in North Carolina was go grocery shopping. The most ordinary of activities. It would have been nice to not have to cook while I was here but alas, my life is what it is and no one is going to swoop in and make me dinner.
But I enjoyed grocery shopping for the first time in a very long time. I made absolutely no meal plans and threw things in my cart with abandon. A shit ton of avocados. Peppers and hummus and various cheeses. I can buy these things at home and I do, but I am frugal (I brought hot sauce with me because I already had an extra bottle at home, for example) and if something is getting sacrificed on the grocery list, it’s going to be something I want. But not this day, my friends. I bought expensive cheese. Brie for days. I bought my favorite crackers even though they weren’t on sale. My first meal was a cheese plate and ice cream and it was delicious.
It isn’t often that I encounter a space I feel cozy in. Even when I’ve tried to make it my own. In my office, on the right side of my desk hangs my “love board”; pictures of me and my faves, drawings from my favorite kiddos, notes, feathers, etc, and it makes me so happy to look at. But directly across from it sits a stack of boxes. A half-packed-up life. The beginning and the end. Much like other areas of my life, I wasn’t entirely sure what my design aesthetic is ( I could not think of a less cringy HGTV way to say that). But I know I want my new home to feel cozy, not just for me but for everyone that walks through my door. I want blankets everywhere so no one ever has to ask for one if they are cold, I want an open fridge policy; please do not ever ask me if you can have a drink, a snack, an expensive cheese. Wrap that blanket around your shoulders and slap some grapes on a plate ( or don’t use a plate, I don’t care!) while you decide if you want a beer or a glass of whiskey or a water. This is not unusual, most people say “help yourself!” but I want a space where that feels obvious and doesn’t need to be said. I want warm colors and an absurd amount of lamps. I want the energy of this Airbnb, made with the things I have chosen and that have been made for me; the bookshelf built by my dad, the whiskey barrel coffee table made by my uncle. Prior to coming here, I would have told you I hate leather couches; invoking an image of an asshole finance guy in a high-rise of all-black-everything. But I’ve spent a month on this worn, brown leather couch and I want it. It is a hug in couch form.
Being a “Social Butterfly” has its perks on a trip like this—I spent my second weekend here drinking beers on the wrap-around porch of a farmhouse built in the 1800s, with the son and daughter-in-law of my Airbnb hosts. I sat in front of their massive, old fireplace and laughed with Kellan while Hamilton made us grilled cheese sandwiches at midnight ( guys, someone made me food 😭). Their five-year-old son, unprompted, said “Goodnight Ms Alecia”, like I was a regular fixture in their house on Saturday nights and not someone his parents met less than a week ago.
Since then I have met many of their friends, all of whom welcomed me and made me feel like I belong here. We went to a brewery owned by two of those friends one night, a place that was extremely my jam— a great outdoor space with a firepit and twinkle lights, live music, and a crowd that was jovial and unpretentious. If I had any doubts this was where I wanted to be or why I wanted to be here, this night would have confirmed it. Kellan brought along a game for us to play; playing board games at bars being one of my favorite activities, second only to reading at bars.
As I was standing in line waiting for the bathroom, the man in front of me said “Where are you from and why are you here?” ( I’m not sure how he knew I was a yankee but he was very nice) When I told him I was hoping to move here, he said there was someone I had to meet and introduced me to someone else. I met several people this way. By this night, I was on day two of not doing great emotionally and the day prior I’d had my first panic attack in a very long time but instead of feeling like being so far from my people was going to wreck me further, these strangers covered me in a kindness they didn’t know I needed.
I couldn’t figure out why all of this felt so new and revolutionary to me; I have great friends, I certainly don’t lack for people who love me but I realized it’s because I’ve never had friend-neighbors. I’ve never lived in a place where someone can text me and say, “ want to have a beer after work?” and then I walk outside and do that.
We had a dinner party one Sunday night—the most delicious meal of various Indian foods; bottles of wine on the table, the counter, the porch fridge. We talked about politics and sports and the high cost of dental work. At some point I thought holy shit maybe middle age doesn’t have to suck.
“You’re so brave,” one of my new acquaintances said to me and I understand this sentiment, I’ve heard it a few times in the past year. But what those people mean is not only you’re so brave to do this, to take a leap, to do something new, what they mean (even if they don’t realize it) is I could never be that alone. But the truth is, feeling unloved is a far worse experience than feeling lonely.
I haven’t read a lot while I here, which surprised me. I assumed I’d spend hours at a spot on some trail I’d found that was just meant for curling up with a book. But the thing about aloneness is even the things you love might not be what you need when you have all this space to fill with just yourself. I couldn’t have predicted how many days I’d feel sad while I was here, nor could I have predicted the days that were absolutely perfect, no notes. I realized early on in the trip that I needed to spend as much time outside as possible, that I needed to be “doing”, that I needed to not sit too long with my head. I’ll get to do plenty of that when I call this home.
This is the first time in my life that nothing is influencing where I live other than whatever I decide influences it. Not a job, not a partner, not an overwhelming sense of guilt. It was always going to be in this general vicinity but that I can choose literally anywhere feels incredible and I know I am lucky and privileged to be able to do so. One of the first people I met asked me, “what do you want your community to be?” and I loved this framing so much, I spent the next four weeks attempting to answer that question.
Morganton was not on my original list of towns I wanted to look at. Initially I was mostly picking at random after a Google search of “small mountain towns western North Carolina”. I thought Boone would come out on top; I follow App State football and a college town was sure to have the two things I look for first whenever I visit a new place : bookstores and breweries. But after a few hours, I knew I’d never want to live there.
My first visit to Morganton, I cried (not the good kind, not the relieved crying; although that came later). I don’t necessarily recommend picking your home based on if you’re left alone or if people ask if you are ok while you cry on a park bench but I’m sure there are worse ways to choose a place to live.
Some other things that happened in Morganton : a woman at one of the bookstores signed me up for their reward program because “ I can tell you’ll be back”, a man at a café told me he liked my hair, at another bookstore a dog greeted me and then promptly walked away, an older bartender (and retired paramedic) named Joe named a flight after me, invited me on his smoke break while calling me a young lady and told me I should definitely choose Morganton. I saw gorgeous mountains and then 15 minutes later I was walking downtown. I passed the bench where I sat and cried and didn’t feel the sadness I’d felt a week earlier but was glad the bench existed. I am sure I will use it again. I drank Prosecco and ate great pizza. I was called honey twice. I felt like I could breathe.
Any of these by themselves might have made me think this was where I should be but combined I knew for sure (particularly my old friend Joe if I’m being honest; I’m really a sucker for old men)
I don’t know if this will all work out and frankly, given how my life has gone since I was eighteen, all signs would point to it not. But what this trip has given me is possibility. Erin reminded me the other day that I am a different person than I was 20 years ago, 10 years ago, 3 years ago, 1 year ago (there is no relationship that compares to a best friendship with someone who has seen you through every season of your life) and perhaps the person who decided to spend a month in a place she loves, figuring out her shit, is the person I get to be from now on. Fingers crossed, because I think that person is pretty great.
I spent my last night in North Carolina doing the most ordinary of activities—eating pizza and drinking beers at a bar with my friends. A month ago I didn’t know any of the people who hugged me goodbye and told me the really enjoyed meeting me and they couldn’t wait for me to come back.
I didn’t know what I’d find when I got here but I know I got more than I could have ever expected.
This poem was hanging up at one of the bookstores in Morganton. I cannot wait to make this world of my devising, my lonely mind has been dreaming about it for years.
"There Will Be Rest"
There will be rest, and sure stars shining
Over the roof-tops crowned with snow,
A reign of rest, serene forgetting,
The music of stillness holy and low.
I will make this world of my devising
Out of a dream in my lonely mind.
I shall find the crystal of peace, – above me
Stars I shall find. ~ Sara Teasdale