This summer, after three years of bragging and boasting about boola boola, we’ll be moving halfway (a third of the way?) across the country to South Bend, because Chris is going to Notre Dame! He’ll be in the PhD program in Theology, his top choice. We’re incredibly excited because:
1) I called Notre Dame “Catholic Disneyland” when we visited for a conference in undergrad. I maintain this nickname, but now it’s not pejorative. The Massiest place on Earth!
2) Chris met a bunch of his cohort at interview weekend and became instant friends. I’m planning on hitching my ride to that bandwagon.
3) PhD stipend, holla! in…
4) South Bend, which seems about a billion times cheaper to survive in than Connecticut and we’re hoping we can buy a house(!!!) People keep saying, “oh, South Bend isn’t a great area” and I’m like, we lived in murder city for three years with only one stolen bike and found it quite pleasant.
Of course, I’m super sad to leave. (See: last post.) But I’m doing the healthy thing and pretending not to think about it until this summer. Here’s to five (or six) years of pretending to care about football!
We know we won’t be in New Haven come the Fall. It’s very exciting and God has been very, very good to us and I can’t wait to share where we’re headed with everyone, but we want to make sure we tell everyone IRL first. (And I’ve been stealing Chris’ thunder all week already…)
I’m trying to focus on the excitement that awaits us at our next destination, but I can’t always repress the hollow feeling in my stomach that arises when I think about leaving. It sounds dramatic (I hate sounding dramatic) but it’s the best way I can describe it. New Haven isn’t my favorite city, but it provided us with a lot of firsts: our first names-on-the-lease apartment as married people, the hospital where our first kid was born, our first adult friendships (non-college subtype), the beginning of our lives as Catholics. I spent our first year here lonely, pregnant, depressed, and very cold. I wanted to get out of here as soon as we could. I never would have expected to be sad to leave. This is a particularly upper-middle class ennui, I know. “Boohoo, your husband is getting his PhD at a top program and you have to move.” It’s not a heavy cross compared to others, but following the will of God often means having “no place to rest your head” and I struggle with that hard truth.