How to Adjust: the social media version

Several years ago on an old blog I ran a little series called “Ask a ___ person.” SO, you could ask a bossy person/a creative person/a chronically ill person/etc. questions you might have. I was ahead of my time, or else simply unaware of Reddit’s AMA (Ask Me Anything) — and to be honest, there weren’t many questions asked. It was really more a chance for people to write about some aspect of their identity to let others know what it’s like to be that.

I didn’t, but totally could’ve written one called “Ask Me How to Adjust.” I am not just Queen of the Pillbugs, I am also queen of adjusting. I’ve yet to meet someone who has moved more times than I have, though I am on my metaphorical knees begging the universe for this to be the last move. Adjusting is such an invisible process to me it wouldn’t even occur to me to notice it, but I am watching another woman adjust to her move, from the Catskills back to Queens, after living here for 8(-ish) years, and it’s reminding me of the process.

One of *MANY* accounts for the Catskills — and nearly that many for the Hudson Valley, too.

One really great aspect of social media is how quickly it allows you to get a sense of a place. When I learned we were moving to the Catskills, I scoured Instagram for accounts focusing on the Catskills and the Hudson Valley, and subscribed to them if they showed me around, introduced me to new places and experiences. Through FB, I scoured the upcoming events looking for pages that would bring me news of the area, and post all kinds of events — literary, cultural, music, outdoors, learning. Since I am in such a rural setting (I don’t even live in a village; I live in a hamlet [“a small human settlement”], which is one of twelve hamlets collected into a town called Shandaken, although I have yet to find actual Shandaken…), having access to town news via FB is really helpful.

So as I subscribed to all the pages and sites affiliated with my new home, I also unsubscribed from pages and sites affiliated with my old home. I unsubscribed from sites that list events happening in Austin, and from politics (especially since my friends will keep me posted on that dread front). I kept an occasional subscription if it featured photographs of Texas, since I am a Texan no matter where I am, and find so much beauty in the geography of the place, but I started snipping those ties. Of course I kept all my friends, for friends they will be as long as we care for each other, but the others are let go. It’s too big a job to unsubscribe all at once, so as they come up, I just unsubscribe and move on.

The other woman who is adjusting continues to be heavily involved in her connection to the goings-on of this area — which, of course, is just absolutely fine, her right to adjust however she sees fit! For me, though, clinging to a place I no longer live feels good at first, because it’s familiar and my attachment allows me to still feel anchored . . . until it doesn’t. Until I realize that I’m not going to those events, they aren’t for me, and then suddenly I realize I am gone from there, and not connected anywhere. For me, adjusting means looking in front of me.

a blurry shot of a loping-along bear whose path we crossed the other night after dinner. Katie named him Roland. Works for me. 🙂

Unless you move to a very similar place — big city to big city, Chicago to NYC perhaps — there will be deeper adjustments, too. Training your eyes to see, training your longings to adjust, training your interests to expand. When I lived in Austin, it was never on my radar (or anywhere in my sphere of interest) to take a hike with an expert mushroom guy, to learn all about them, and maybe even to learn how to cultivate them. To learn how to care a lot about getting rid of a specific grass that’s about to seed, because it’s choking out wild mushrooms in the area. Now I see all kinds of opportunities to learn a bunch of new stuff, to learn the specific names of things, to get good at a new range of interests and activities. To learn a whole new history — natural and human — and to do it in a solitary way. I find it very easy to slip right into nostalgia and happiness when I think about my wonderful poetry group in Austin, those beautiful people who shared words and care in my living room for five years, but not to cling to it because it won’t be that, here. This life will be so different, and I’ve had so many very different lives that I’m curious about the experience of this one.

4 thoughts on “How to Adjust: the social media version”

  1. I love this: “Training your eyes to see, training your longings to adjust, training your interests to expand.” The best description I’ve ever heard of what it takes to adapt to a new reality/place.

    1. Sometimes it’s a shitty, harrowing new place, isn’t it — but still there is training to be done. The only good thing about scorched earth is that it’s easier to see the important things that are left because all the fluff and undergrowth are burned away. xoxox (and thank you)

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