Coffee, reheated for the third time, check. Classical music lilting through my headphones, check. Bright morning sunlight, streaming through the window of my new office, check.

All the pieces seem to be in place, so why am I struggling to write? It’s certainly not that I have nothing to say—that’s never a struggle for me. Maybe it’s just that there’s been too much to say. Yeah. I like that. Too much to say and not sure how to say it.

It’s been almost two months since our family relocated from the Midwest to the East Coast, and I must confess, I’m still reeling from all the change.

The Good: The cross-country drive with my husband, our three kids, and our crazy Weimaraner was the most uneventful road trip I’ve ever had. No bad weather, no one was carsick, no horrible construction backups, no breakdowns (emotional or vehicular). The movers arrived on time, unloaded in a single day, and went their merry way; the neighbors are friendly and brought treats to welcome us; the weather here, in sharp contrast to Minnesota’s apparently lingering winter chill, is glorious; early visits by family members have been wonderful; and exploring this part of the country, which we’ve always loved, delights and entertains us.

The Bad: The house, in spite of its beautiful bones, is presenting some challenges (all right, to be honest, some days I feel like I’m living in a remake of The Money Pit), as are the kids. When did my children turn into The Bad News Bears? Limiting them to just one camp each this summer (reasoning at the time being that we’d be too busy exploring to want to be tied into a bunch of camps) looks to have been a tactical mistake. Between unpacking, moving-in-related errands, and contractors’ visits, they’ve been housebound more often than we’d planned, which is resulting in just a bit more “family time” than we’re finding healthy (if “family time” is a euphemism for trying to tear each others’ hair out by the roots and includes plentiful cussing and routine slamming of doors). ’nuff said on that topic.

The Ugly (Wait, there’s more?): This is the part I couldn’t figure out how to express. When you move, and especially when you move to a place where you don’t really know anyone, it can almost feel like a little death. I know, I still have my husband and my three kids and our crazy dog, and numerous other blessings which I count every day (well, the dog, maybe not every day…). But there are so many other things I feel are lost, that I feel like I’ve almost been in mourning since we moved: the easy, daily contact with our friends; the familiarity of our old home and community and routines—those things are all gone. I miss them. But I’ve also been feeling an additional loss: the writing foundation I’ve worked so hard to build over the last few years. My writing group; my network of local contacts, which led to such wonderful opportunities, from conferences and signings to television appearances; so many local resources—I’ve left them all behind, and now, I have to start all over again. I am feeling…well, how I’m feeling depends on what day it is, honestly. Some days, I’m depressed as hell (if I’d written this on one of those days, the title would’ve been “My Controlled Burn”). Other days I’m invigorated and inspired. It feels like my life’s become a giant game of Chutes & Ladders, where one day I’m climbing up the ladder just fine, and the next, I’m sliding back down to the bottom. I guess that’s why I haven’t been writing much—too confused to know what to say or how to feel. I’ve been stuck.

But today, I’ve decided to try to force myself back into a sense of control. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? If I have to start all over again, then that’s what I’ll do, no sense whining about it. Just do it. So I’m putting my feet back on the rungs of the ladder and climbing again. It may be slow going, but I plan on taking it one rung at a time; the important thing is to still be in the game. Next post, I promise: less whining, more sunshine.

P.S. Speaking of ladders, what do you think of my new office? Oops, guess I forgot to include that in “The Good.” And it’s a Big Good. You can’t go wrong with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves so big and full you need a ladder to access them all. Yep. Up is good, and that’s where I’m headed.