Posted on | January 20, 2011 | 6 Comments

This morning, my drive to work was made a little more interesting by the fact that a thick cloud of fog hovered over everything. I could see about fifteen feet or less in front of me and the familiar buildings that line the streets were completely hidden. Crossing the bridge over to the mainland was like floating on a cloud; I couldn’t see the river or the boats or any thing at all to indicate that I was, in fact, on solid ground.

There’s something eerie about fog. There’s something almost sinister in the way it rises up off the water and stretches it’s long, shawl-like fingers over everything in its path.

As I drove in to the office this morning, it occurred to me that I’ve been living in a fog-like state for the past six or seven months. When I first moved to Savannah, things seemed to be looking up. I thought everything was in place for our little family to start to feel connected. I thought my job and Husband’s job and this beautiful city would all come together to make for a magical connection that would just ride us through the tough times. I couldn’t see the ground beneath my feet; I couldn’t see the buildings on the sides of the path I was traveling; I couldn’t see more than fifteen feet in front of my face. This move has been shrouded in fog since the beginning. It has been obscured. It was cloaked in more money, a better lifestyle, a happier husband. I didn’t take the time to wait out the fog and see what was actually around me. Everything about the past year and a half of my life has been about upheaval. I had a baby, I changed jobs, I moved to a new city. There’s been nothing solid to lay my head against; no warm, familiar and safe place to just take the time to breathe. I’ve been going so fast and being so bull headed about doing everything perfectly and all by myself that I’ve barely even noticed that the world around me is cloaked from view. I don’t know if it’s the depression or just the reality of being a working mother, but this fog is thick. I don’t know how I missed it before.

I’d be lying if I said having this tiny insight cleared the fog this morning. It didn’t. I’m still struggling to see this move and this life for what it truly is. But I think the first step to survival is just recognizing that you’re in the midst of something… it’s understanding that there actually is fog. The world hasn’t changed. The buildings and the ground, the boats and the river… they’re all still there. You might not see everything clearly, but that doesn’t mean that the path isn’t strong beneath your feet.

I may not see the path I’m on very clearly right now… but at least I can see the fog.


6 Responses to “Fog”

  1. Andrea @arrrj
    January 20th, 2011 @ 2:43 pm

    As the saying goes … knowing is half the battle.

  2. KLZ
    January 20th, 2011 @ 3:22 pm

    I can’t wait until next week and I can give you a big hug.

  3. Toni
    January 20th, 2011 @ 3:35 pm

    Great post. I hope the fog lifts for you very soon.

  4. Erin
    January 20th, 2011 @ 7:30 pm

    sometimes I think the fog is what protects us from seeing something that we might not be ready or able to handle…

    or…it’s just a sign of too much humidity in the air:)

    I am glad that you can see the fog and I know that you will find your way again.

  5. Anne @ A JD + Three
    January 21st, 2011 @ 1:54 am

    I understand. It is like living life but not experiencing it. Either because you are hiding from it or because you are too afraid what will happen if you let yourself feel it.

    I understand.

  6. Christa aka the BabbyMama
    January 21st, 2011 @ 8:04 pm

    Hey, at least you had a momentary fog-clearing insight, even if it wasn’t perfect. I swear, I am still living in a fog – I can’t see what direction I’m going in (I can blame a recent miscarriage, but not for everything). Can I see the fog? Yep, but that’s just about all I see.

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