When You Don't Feel Belonging Where You Belong

a landlocked water baby unleashes

dialoguing is a newsletter from an off-duty psychotherapist keeping the conversation going on how to make sense of this life thing we’re all doing. if you ever wondered what your therapist does off the clock—which, who among us hasn’t?—this is like that. think of it as the adult equivalent of seeing your elementary school teacher at the grocery store picking out lemons. 🍋 I alternate between long-form psychoeducation pieces and narrative essays.

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I love water. I’m a water baby. I grew up in a town with lake in it’s name. I spent summers surrounded by the ribbiting frogs and glistening waters of Northern Wisconsin. Water lapping at the shore brings tears to my eyes and peace to my soul. Most of my pictures when I travel are of water.

And yet, I currently live in a landlocked state. I am often told there are lakes here. Is a lake really even a lake if it’s always too cold to swim in it?

It’s quite frankly bold of me to write this on a mid 60’s day in February, sitting outside wearing a one shoulder tank and shorts, letting the sun sink into my legs, which can only be described as strictly translucent. Here I am, in all my glory, soon to be fully grumbling about living here.

Here is Denver, Colorado. 

I got here by way of Chicago, by way of Normal, IL, by way of Tempe, AZ, by way of Oregon, IL, by way of Twin Lakes, WI. A few of those were of me and I of them.

I willingly left them all¹. So even that fades, I guess.