Running away or moving toward?
Greener grass syndrome
Have you ever wished you were somewhere else?
Like maybe the metaphorical grass is greener way over there.
Over there, my problems will feel easier. Maybe even disappear.
Over there, everything will be okay.
Over there, I’d be able to handle everything better.
Whether it’s across the street, to a new state, or a new job or different relationship, I imagine most of us find ourselves in this space once in a while. Maybe some of us live there a bit too often.
If only I was over there, then everything would be better.
Nathan Feiles, MSW, LCSW-R describes greener grass syndrome: “The idea that there is always something better that we are missing. So rather than experiencing stability, security, and satisfaction in the present environment, the feeling is there is more and better elsewhere, and anything less than ideal won’t do. Whether it’s with relationships, careers, or where you live, there is always one foot out the door.”
Mmhmm.
He goes on to say: “The problem with this is the greener grass is usually based on fantasy and fear. The fear comes from several possibilities, including fear of being trapped in commitment, fear of boredom, fear of loss of individuality, and fear of oppression.”
“When the grass is greener on the other side, we’re usually (if not always) placing personal unhappiness with ourselves onto something outside of us — generally a partner, career, living environment, etc. We rely on polishing our external environment to soothe a deeper internal dissatisfaction. Though the environment changes when jumping the fence, after a brief internal high, without constant stimulation and newness, the dissatisfaction becomes the same.”
Well, then.
I caught myself this summer thinking everything will be okay once we’re in our new house. Sure, there is a level of stability our new home creates that feels good to the very large part of my brain that hates uncertainty.
And.
The grass is literally greener in this home (the former owners replaced the grass with artificial turf) but not a single tension spot in my life magically disappeared because my zip code changed.
My daughter is still starting middle school this month and I have roller coaster emotions about it.
My son is still shifting from a school start time of 9:20 am to 7:50 am and there’s no way around helping him wake up early five days a week.
My husband is still working a full-time (school IT) and a part-time job (band leader) he enjoys but it’s a lot.
Me? Those annoying quirks that trip me up in relationships and daily life are *still right here.* I didn’t magically become some chill relaxed perfect human because I picked up my life and set up camp on a new street in a new town in a new state.
Now, to be honest, some parts of life did get far better, and that’s one reason why we moved.
But the truth remains. How do we pull the confusing thread of our discomfort when we don’t yet know if we’re running away from a hard thing vs. moving toward a new true thing?
Running away or moving toward?
When we decided to move from Washington to Oregon, we’d been pulling a few threads that came up empty. No matter how hard we pulled, there didn’t seem to be anything on the other end of the string. It was uncomfortable and confusing. I didn’t want to run away to another state because something got hard. But we couldn’t deny the new energy and open doors and growing possibilities of new invitations.
Were we fearfully running away from discomfort?
Were we intentionally moving toward alignment?
We discerned it was the second and that made all the difference. We still felt fear and uncertainty. We still felt sad and curious. But we trusted the move to “greener grass” was purposeful and not escapism.
This new greener grass didn’t solve everything. Honestly, it didn’t magically fix anything. But it’s an intentional choice we made that feels really good in our bodies and that’s more than enough.
I’m curious, dear readers. Is there a time in your life when you could tell the difference between running away from a difficult chapter vs. running toward a new chapter?
And because life is messy — maybe it’s both sometimes.
Leave a comment and tell us a bit of your story.
Much love, friends.
A note to my wonderful readers: We’re about to shift into a new season of The Thread as we wrap up year one. I’m so excited to tell you about it in the next few weeks! Details to come.
I think it’s always both. At least that’s been my experience. I’ve made two major transitions in my life. The first was in 2002, when my husband and I loved Maui so much after our first vacation there that we sold our home in PA, resigned from our calls as pastors, and moved to Maui. We did not have jobs or housing lined up in advance. We ended up living there for ten years and I’d happily move back to Maui if money wasn’t an issue. That move was more about moving toward something new than running away from our previous life, but there were still things we were eager to leave behind.
The second major transition was leaving behind our careers as pastors. At first we didn’t choose to do that; we were coerced into resigning from a joint call in 2020 abruptly and without explanation by that congregation’s council. As we interviewed for other calls both together and separately, it became increasingly apparent that in our polarized society (especially in southern states; we live in TX) and at our age (mid-late 50s) being pastors was no longer a viable option for us.
So this transition is much more about running from a toxic environment and we’re still figuring out what we’re moving toward. But the freedom to be honest about my beliefs, call out the hypocrisy and cruelty of some religious and political leaders, and not have to worry about how church members will react is liberating!
I’m now primarily a freelance writer, and also a part time tutor; my husband is currently an Uber driver.
Hi Jenny. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I am stuck in a place where I doubt that my thoughts or feelings matter or even if they exist. I just try to get through each day as best I can. Feels like just going through hoops . Facing obstacles. No time or energy for creativity. Age is part of this. I am retired 75 and no real plan. Just floating. Grateful for my health and safety. I have much to be grateful for. Waiting for direction.