We all have stories we tell ourselves. We tell ourselves we are too fat, too ugly, or too old, or too foolish. We tell ourselves these stories because they allow us to excuse our actions, and they allow us to pass off the responsibility for things we have done — maybe to something within our control, but anything other than the decisions we have made.
[…] It is past time, I think, for you to stop telling that particular story, and tell the story of yourself. […] There are times in our lives when we have to realize our past is precisely what it is, and we cannot change it. But we can change the story we tell ourselves about it, and by doing that, we can change the future.
—The Weird Sisters, Eleanor Brown
I reread Eleanor’s lovely novel this spring, and this quote (near the end of the book, after one character has finally faced up to her mistakes) has stayed with me. It struck me the first two times I read The Weird Sisters, but on this, my third read, it lodged in my mind and has remained there. And only now, months later, have I figured out why.
For the first two years of my life in Boston, I told myself this story about it: Boston is a strange, difficult, often lonely place to live, full of beauty, history and culture, but far from my home and the family and friends I miss. I will have a hard time truly belonging here.
My six months of unemployment and my subsequent first job here gave me few reasons to change this narrative, even as I fell in love with our apartment and our church. I clung to Abi and Shanna, my two treasured friends who moved up here when we did, and to the few new friends we made. I also spent many (not unhappy) afternoons wandering the city by myself, but I eventually came to believe that carving out a place for ourselves here was not only difficult but impossible.
The last seven months have completely upended that narrative, forcing me to rethink the story altogether.
Part of the change is simply a result of the passage of time. After three years, we know all sorts of things we could not have known as Boston newbies: how to navigate the subway system, how to decipher the New England accents, how long it takes to get to church and the mall and the grocery store. We have library cards and parking passes, a detailed mental map of Boston and its environs. We have established a number of traditions: apple picking, July 4 fireworks, Turkeypalooza. We own down coats and CharlieCards and Massachusetts drivers’ licenses. We have built, slowly and over many months, deep friendships that did not exist before we came here.
We also know larger, intangible things: how it feels to move two thousand miles away from family, how difficult and freeing it can be to strike out on your own in a totally new part of the country. How much it costs to fly, at various times of the year, from Boston to Dallas or Boston to West Texas, and how and what to pack for those trips. How it feels to ache for the community you left, and how to do the slow work of building a new one. We are no longer as lonely as we were, and I cannot tell you how grateful this makes me.
The surprise factor in changing my narrative about Boston and New England is my new neighborhood, the job I now hold at one of Harvard’s schools and the transformation it has wrought in my workdays.
I had convinced myself, after months of experience to that effect, that Boston’s landscape of friendship might be as gray and barren as its physical landscape in winter. And though I started my new job in the dead of winter, the camaraderie in my new office burst onto my internal landscape like a garden of spring flowers.
Since February, my relationships with my colleagues have bloomed, sometimes slowly, but steadily, and they provide daily color and light where before I had little of either. The work itself is another important factor: it suits me better, personally and professionally, than my former position. And the chance to explore Harvard Square on my lunch breaks, and attend Morning Prayers at Memorial Church, is no small thing.
As a result, the story I tell myself, about both my past and present experience in Boston, is changing. I am learning to see the first two years for what they were: a challenging but valuable transition into a new city and a much different way of life. I am newly aware of how long it takes to truly feel at home in a place, and newly accepting of the ways in which I may always feel like an outsider. But I no longer assume that the people I meet will prove brusque or uncaring. I am more open to new experiences, new friends, new projects and possibilities.
I am creating a new story to tell myself. And it feels good.
cakes, tea and dreams 
This is so, so lovely. Thanks for reminding me that we have power to shape the narrative we tell ourselves, that in turn creates so much of how we think about our lives. xox
This makes me so very happy for you, Katie, and serves as a reminder of the power of the narratives we craft about ourselves. Hugs.
Wonderfully said! I am familiar with these sentiments.
Love this! I was struck by that same quote when I read the book. I completely relate to your narrative of Boston, though for different reasons. When I first moved to Nashville, I kept up a very positive narrative and ignored the harder parts but in the past year I’ve started dealing with some of those frustrations, in hopes that my initial narrative will come true. Does that make any sense? Eh. You know what I mean.
Love this! Thanks so much sharing this journey of change!
Beautiful. I love this story.
I love that language of changing your narrative, Katie. I remember sitting with you and J in my living room in West Texas days before the big move wondering what adventures awaited the two of you in Boston. I’m so glad to hear that you’re finding your footing and embracing the beauty in your life there. Community makes such a difference. 🙂
I moved to Boston from the Midwest just over four years ago and am going through all of this, too! The first three years we just assumed we would leave as soon as we could, but then when it was time to decide to move we just didn’t want to leave our friends. We’ve met so many great people here.
I am glad I stumbled upon your blog!
Lovely post. And so true. So much of our experience is within our direct control. If we change the narrative, we will often change our perceptions. Good to remember! And I’m glad that you’ve found a workplace that truly fits you, and that you’re beginning to feel more “at home” in Boston, even if it will never be Texas.
I’m enjoying reading your story, too. Thanks for writing such a lovely one.
I love this. I’m 2 years into living in a city I’d previously never thought about. The “narrative” of my first 1.5 years was…not positive. This is a good reminder to bloom where you’re planted.
An inspiring post that holds sway with many of life’s changing, from moving to aging to loss and to receiving. You’ve made my day, Katie, and I thank you.
I am so glad you are here, Katie.
Even though Chris and I only moved from an hour south, Boston is hard. I think my first two years were very similar. It takes time here to dig in — and the past few months have been great for Chris and I as well. And as wonderful as old friends are – there is something amazing about having friends that you didn’t just fall into through school or because you grew up together – but people you met at parties (or writing conferences) or in your neighborhood who became friends. Something about that is steadying, as an adult. It seems obvious – but I needed to know I could make friends from scratch. I am glad you are one of them. 🙂
I’m so pleased to read you are settling in and happy Katie. This is a beautiful post, thank you for sharing your thoughts. I experienced very similar feelings when I moved to London (around eight years ago now though!) but couldn’t have expressed them as well as you do!
As someone who has moved A LOT, I appreciate your struggle and insight. I am having a somewhat similar epiphany here in Abilene, as Paul has found meaningful work and it looks like we’ll be here for a number of years (God willing). Abilene was only meant to be a stop-gap for us, as Paul did schooling, and then we would move on. I am slowly realizing that this is our home for the time being. Knowing that we are loved here is helping. But. there is some disappointment that we won’t be going off to a more “exotic” place! HA!
Thanks for your willingness to share.
As a Navy wife, in my early 20’s, living a climate- and socially-warm Florida, I declared that it took 6 months to feel at home living in a new city. Then upon moving to climate- and socially-cooler Northern California, I revised my declaration that it took more like 9 months. Back over to the East Coast, I’ve been living for almost year and just in the last week or so have a felt a twinge of that “at homeness.” I think some of it is circumstantial, but a good part I believe is that of my age, and the age of my peers. As we all get a big more guarded and a bit busier with family, jobs, energy and free time, I’ve learned to give myself and my new cities grace and enjoy each season for what it is — constantly oscillating, in my case, between being the new girl in town, and then almost immediately to savoring those last few months before we’re waving “Bon voyage.”