Going Home

I told our daughters, when explaining the change in destination for our retirement move, “If your father has friends, I’ll be fine.”

We had shifted gears from building a new home in Maryland to buying an old house in North Carolina. Instead of joining long-time friends in Havre de Grace, we were following great neighbors to Hickory.  At one point it seemed as if we were only considering places that started with “H.”  Our older daughter quipped, “How about Havana?”

We didn’t know anyone in Havana, for one. Two, these neighbors were proven. We liked living across the street from them. Why not continue the proximity and its benefits? Good neighbors seemed a great assurance policy for striking out for unfamiliar territory.

In turn, our neighbors had followed friends of their own to North Carolina. Why not populate a Tar Heel street with like-minded Old Dominion transplants?  We could be a modern-day commune -- separate houses, but joint activities.

My husband, a solitary man, likes and enjoys the once and current neighbors as well as their friends, the earlier settlers or “founding family.” In my part of the calculation to head south by southwest, I figured my husband having “fellowship” so convenient could help ease his transition.

So, that’s how I explained it to our puzzled daughters who asked, “What? Hickory? Where? North Carolina?”

As for me, I knew I would need more than neighbors.  Not hordes of people, but as an EFNP (Myers Briggs shorthand) I am an extrovert, and like all those other “Es,” I get energy from other people. At my last job I hated it when my E supervisor was away. I’d tell her, “Find me a battery charger for while you’re gone.”

As an extrovert, I knew I would be the one in our couple who would likely fare better in meeting people and making new friends.  I just didn’t realize just how hard it would be.

I know the advice about joining groups, volunteering, taking classes, and more, but starting over in a new place in your 60s and finding friends is a lot like dating.  Further, there’s no assist from work or your children’s schools and activities. On top of that, our dog is no longer a puppy. You can meet a lot of people when walking an adorable dog in training.

Like dating, you’ve got to put yourself out there. I’ve gone to lunches. Some more successful than others. (Others, wildly successful. New friend, you know who I’m talking about.) I’ve gone to meetings. Again, mixed results. I’ve also gone to gyms (2) and yoga studios (2).

Yet, anything worth doing takes time. Like so many women, I place great value on female friendships. Women are blessed with something in our brains or hormones or both (pick your study)

that helps us seek and value non-romantic relationships and support networks. The anecdotal evidence and research is clear, if you have friends you have less stress, more joy, and live longer and healthier. 

So, I keep at it. I am lucky that there is a cause here that really caught my attention (“Blue” readers will know what I’m talking about.) There are many great women working on getting out the vote.  After months of meetings and miles of canvassing, last week was a breakthrough in my acceptance that I am becoming a Tar Heel.

As I was driving home from visiting my husband in the hospital (he’s home and okay), I realized that I hadn’t told any of my DC-area friends about what was going on. Over the past year, we’ve had some medical ups and downs in our family (dog included). Each time, I reached out to DC-area women friends for support.

This time, I shared the news with new friends. They rallied with support -- texts, calls, and concern -- and freshly baked bread.

While I miss my old friends, and always will, now I have more friends and nearby battery chargers. 

It’s beginning to feel a lot like home.