Power Dress

Multiple friends gave me the same piece of advice when I moved. They all said GIVE IT A YEAR. Well ring-a-ding-ding because today is my one-year mark and I just unpacked from Girls' Camp where one of my 16 year-olds voluntarily hugged and said she loved me. Victory!

Three days after we moved I had to decide what to wear my first week at the new church. I chose my power dress: a black and white striped beauty that was structurally sound, forgiving in the midsection, and a consistent performer. We missed the turn, were a few minutes late, and earned five metal chairs in the overflow. I looked around and scoped out my new family. It was odd to not know one soul.

Everett was acting his age; I took my parental turn bouncing him back by the stage. From my vantage point I could see the entire congregation. A quick scan yielded seven other females wearing a black and white horizontally striped dress. My heart sank a little. So I was one out of eight here? That's it?

Everett would not be consoled. I went out to the hallway, buckled him in the umbrella stroller, and began a series of back and forth U-shaped laps. This allowed me to see all the framed art hanging in the building.

I was feeling very powerless in my power dress. I was missing PD1 like crazy and wondering if I'd matter here like I mattered where I used to live. I was irritated my baby was preventing me from mingling with people. I needed people! I started to well up but quickly pulled the reigns, preventing a tear duct catastrophe on Week 1.

Everett was softly snoring when I wheeled past the Relief Society room for the umpteenth time. The beguiling painting of the woman taken in adultery* was one I'd never seen. There she was, washing the Savior's feet "with her sins and her reputation" as I once heard it described. Around the corner by the High Council room Christ was washing the feet of his apostles.

I thought it was odd that both paintings depicted feet being washed. Then it clicked, and the Holy Ghost taught me something. Melissa, forget about yourself and your power dress. Selfishness never made anyone happy for long. There is a better way and you just looked at it in two paintings. Serve God by serving your fellow men...even though you currently don't know any of them. Get busy starting over and start getting to know people!

I shared my thoughts about the power dress with my new ward and embarrassingly enough "power dress" (or "power tie" or "power shoes") has become a ubiquitous phrase in these parts.

The missionaries recently spoke to the youth of our ward and advised them to GET COMFORTABLE BEING UNCOMFORTABLE. (That phrase hung in the Texan Elder's high school locker room and drove him to Division I scholarship offers.) I know he meant it in the context of sharing the gospel but to me it perfectly described moving. Moving was the worst! And then it got comfy. And then it hurt again but I recovered. Over and over.

If I'm being honest, I have reached out to almost 60 new people in the last year (list makers gotta list). Something along the reasoning of Ovid's famous quote, "Let your hook always be cast. In the pool where you least expect it will be fish."

Fishing with 60 poles isn't exactly comfortable but how else does one succeed? I've dropped a lot of lines hoping to find a fish, a foot to proverbially wash, a friend, a tribe. House calls, drop-offs, postcards, play dates, making real comments. Some of them were abysmally awkward total fails...but most weren't. In both cases my heart was in the right place; I've tried to be fearless in reaching out. A heads up: the right place is often as uncomfortable as it is comfortable.

I was wired with a perma-smile until almost two in the morning the night of my birthday. My stringer of new fish friends made it so awesome. I thought to myself, "If I'd known it was going to be this great I would have cried a lot less leaving American Fork." However, I felt super sad and lonely for some reason after the Relief Society Social last month. I've also apologized to multiple neighbors and felt like a hopeless idiot more than once. I believe the term is "balance"?

Today Greg and I celebrated our one-year mark by eating impromptu-but-poetic-justice pie with the first neighbor that ever stopped by our new house (and also gave us eggs, banana bread, cookies, a handwritten card, and a big hug at church). The ache of an empty dream home was a new sensation to me; she was a literal angel. She taught me the importance of catching people while the dust is still settling.

Then just before dusk the nine gongs of our doorbell preceded a plate of cookies and one of the nicest letters I'll ever possess.

As hard as I've tried, I still feel like I'm in debt. Too many have been faster on their feet to kneel at my feet. I've been included, invited, picked up, pampered, and understood. It's like SuperKarma.

Tonight, as I put two more envelopes in the shoe box containing notes I've received since moving, I felt like Sabrina in the Julia Ormond remake. Remember how she got to Paris and only had the picture of David's GAP ad on her bulletin board? A year later, though, she had ticket stubs and programs and photos of real things covering everywhere but his face. She had walked on all the bridges, filled journals, and her French was magnifique.

I will forever love my PD1 680 West GAP ad. They were the first and only picture pinned on my board for awhile. But serving works. Fishing works. Icky weird trying works. And time works.

I feel comfortable after a year.

Photo of a portion of the Komagane Kogen Art Museum Campaign, designed by the Hiromura Design Office in Tokyo, Japan with Massaki Hiromura as Art Director. 

*"For She Loved Much" by Jeffrey Hein, referring to Luke 7. The other painting was by Harry Anderson.

Other interesting stat covering the last year: 

Number of times I've cleaned my master shower: 2

I am really lousy at cleaning showers!