Honey, I’m getting the feeling we need to move away from here, calmly stated my husband as if commenting on his choice of a restaurant.
Okay, what’s up? I asked.
Sean’s school isn’t right for him. The town’s too small to do anything really different… for us or the kids. I dunno, just a strong feeling…we need to move, not sure where to.
I sure get the part about Sean, let’s ask for signs. (Smiling) Knowing where to go would be useful too.
Because Dave and I trusted each other’s intuition, no matter how whacky it might seem, we started listening for clues, asking for Guidance. Meanwhile, we said nothing to anyone. I mean, what do you say:
Uhhhh…We’re thinking of moving to somewhere, no idea where, and get school jobs or maybe something different, no idea what. Oh, we have three small children, you say. Well true. Debbie is eighteen months, Tanyalee almost four, and Sean seven.
Obviously, we listened without getting friends’ or family’s input. We were already the weirdos on the block. As the lacrosse coach’s wife asked, When I knocked on the door today, your daughter said you were meditating, please come later. Is that just what you tell them when you disappear in the bedroom, or do you really do that?
We had wonderful friends through teaching and delightful neighbors (with whom we didn’t discuss our philosophical and spiritual perspectives on life.) We started and enjoyed a small meditation-study group with like-minded seekers. The seven of us had shared The Nature of Personal Reality by Jane Roberts, meditated, and were then trying to make meaningful sense of A Course in Miracles.
What was the issue with Sean’s school? In his county school kindergarten and first grade classrooms, the teachers had discouraged questions from this inquisitive child and scolded because he didn’t say “Mam” or “Sir” with every sentence. (I was from California and Dave from New Jersey, so Yes Mam, No Sir, weren’t in our home-teaching of good manners.) The children teased or maligned him for not believing in the Devil (which Sean must have denounced when the subject arose.) No one wanted to answer his probing questions: When people are buried after they die, how do they eat? Why do I need to figure out the math problem that way on paper, when I do it faster this way in my head?
We believed in having our children mix with people of all backgrounds and philosophies, but we didn’t believe that a child should be seen and not heard, should never question the teacher and definitely didn’t find it annoying or rebellious that he had knowledge and curiosity that was not part of the curriculum for his grade level.
Signs about moving, synchronicities, began to appear. At a three-family dinner one evening, two people randomly mentioned Chapel Hill. (We had to ask what state it was in.) A week or two later, our friends John and Sue Payne in Virginia Beach wrote that they intended to visit Chapel Hill to see whether to put their children in the Friend’s School there. We decided to explore the place too, and after a couple of phone calls, we planned to meet them in North Carolina, in the town whose name kept popping up. Their children and ours were already good buddies.
As soon as the sign “Entering Chapel Hill” appeared, I blurted out,
This is it! I just know it! This really is!
Dave, ever the calm one, a Taurus after all, said softly,
What do you say we look around first, then decide?
We both burst out laughing.
Yes, we checked out Carolina Friends School and Friends Meeting and went by the Wholistic Health Center to read the bulletin board, did the same in a tiny health-food store and found other ways to spy on the alternative communities and groups in the area! Success! There were lots of our kind of people in Chapel Hill and its neighbor Carrboro.
On the way home that Sunday, Dave, smiling slightly, said,
I feel it too. This is our new home!