My husband and I have moved in april. Like many we wanted a better life, an environment where our kid would have the possibility to grow without urban turmoil and commute troubles. When he finally was offered a well paid job in the town where I grew up, we didn’t hesitate one second and packed our things, took our kid and cat in our arms and headed south.
We were over the moon with this move. Life was going to be better. We got closer to both our families, found a bigger place for a rent half the price of what we used to pay, only 2 hours away from the mountain.
My husband being only 15 minutes away his job, we have a real family life at last.
So far, we’ve spent our free time wandering in this city with two rivers and let our kid enjoy her new home, make new friends, meet her grandparents on a regular basis and learn to say Gâteau au chocolat and Mozarella.
The more I walk in the streets, the more I have to face reality : the place I considered like my old hometown has changed and isn’t familiar anymore. Friends have moved, bus and metro lines have sprawled around the city and even changed names, places I used to go to have closed. An entire new neighborhood literally jumped out of the ground while I was away.
I love it.
What could have felt like the failure of going back home after an attempt at making it big in the capital city definitely feels like a step forward to a modern and exciting town I need to discover.
But one thing was missing until yesterday, at least for me : meeting friends from the writing community, people who understand my obsession for words and won’t declare me certifiable when I wonder out loud what’s more effective for starting a pandemic: a bacteria or a virus.
I met local participants of NaNoWriMo last night for a drink in the historical center of the city and, gosh, that felt so good. I had not been able to actually talk with a fellow writer since we moved. I mean in real life. I do communicate on a daily basis with writers around the world but nothing replaces bonding over a mutual passion and a cocktail.
They are charming people all very welcoming and curious about me, beautiful in the diversity of their interests, writing practices and assumed nerdiness. We started the night drinking cocktails near the city hall and ended on the terrace of a small restaurant eating pizza and shish kebab until midnight.
Some Dirty Dancing quotes even popped around the table.
Passionate conversation made the parting difficult but we left knowing we’ll definitely meet again during NaNoWriMo parties and write-ins.
When I came home, I felt like it was finally time to fully embrace this new old town of mine and sort my books on the shelves of the living room.
This piece was written as an answer to Robyn’s Stomp Writer’s Block article on the DailyPost .