“Faith is believing when common sense tells you not to.” – Fred Gailey
I unpacked my final suitcase today. Three weeks after I arrived in Colorado, the car is empty, the house plant is warm inside and enjoying the sunlight and my temporary digs feel a little less like I am just on vacation.
And now I wait.
I wait for the new year. My list of to-dos has been pushed to the side for another — the naughty and the nice list. Thankfully I am not in charge of that one.
But its good to be forced into the quiet time of the holidays. I need to let go of the anxiety of being jobless, the finances and all those what-ifs. This is the time of year, when the shopping is all done, that the world goes a little quieter (as long as you aren’t watching the nightly news), when I should focus on the grace and peace of the season as the world settles in for its winter slumber.
As much as I would wish for a series of silent nights during the coming weeks, it’s not really possible. There are just too many cookie plates spinning in the air.
I find myself in the same boat that Santa (aka Kris Kringle) once found himself in that non-Hallmark Christmas movie classic “Miracle on 34th Street.” I need proof from some “competent authority” that I am who I say I am and am currently living where I say I live. This is in order to get new identification so that I can get a bank account, maybe an apartment lease, maybe a job with direct deposit.
I have worked with a few expats over the years and I often heard a similar story about the difficulties in establishing proof of residency; for so much rests on having the right documentation. See, to get a bank account, which is required for signing an apartment lease or setting up a direct deposit for your paycheck, you have to have a driver’s license in the state where you reside. But its difficult to prove residency when you are new to the area and don’t really have an address because you are looking for an apartment, which requires a bank account. You can see it’s a bit of a vicious circle.
I am lucky that my family is allowing me to co-opt their Colorado address for a time.
And just like Kris Kringle in that tale of old, the good ol’ Post Office is coming to my rescue, she writes with a sardonic roll of the eyes. (Many of you know that I have a long history with the USPS — I was 5th generation postal employee for a summer….)
While handwritten letters and cards are not considered official (the movie kinda spoiled that resolution), forwarded first-class mail does count. And, thanks to the “return service,” I have received exactly TWO pieces of mail addressed to me at my new address.
This service sends mail from businesses who pay for it back to them when you move, rather than just forward it to my new address. The Post Office informs them of the new address and they have to reprint the mailing label and resend it. So I have received mail from my mortgage company and my old financial services company at the Colorado address. The mail is canceled and delivered. And I can take it to the Department of Motor Vehicles as proof that the U.S. government acknowledges that I now live in Colorado.
Ha! The system actually worked — could it be a Christmas Miracle??!!!
My sense of relief says “yes, yes it is.” So, come January, I will be able to stand in the long, long line to get the new license. An important next step to get this next chapter moving.
Happy New Year!!!!
Christina's New Deal 