The walls are bare, but for the nails where once artistic oddities hung. Bookshelves are barren, and indeed de-shelved, and flanked by boxes filled with the tomes that once filled them. Whirls of dust have free run of the place in the final days. Saturday is The Day, officially and essentially, though some things are already there and others will not leave until after. Saturday, it’s all those heavy boxes, and the furniture, and we reach the meat of the ending of a thing.
As one things ends, another begins. That whole cycles of life thing.
There’s no sadness. Anticipation, yes, and some excitement, a certain thrill at the unknown, and even some trepidition. The things that are important move with. The extraneous stuff, the unnecessaries and best forgottens, get left behind. A bit or piece may get lost in transit, but there’s time enough for reclaiming.
And there’s that new beginning waiting.
It’s not a long distance move. It’s not a high pressure or get-it-done-now move. It’s merely a transition. A change of environment. A shift of perspective. A rebalancing of life.
Time to remember what matters most.
Time to take stock, remember and put to rest.
Time to write.
It feels more momentous than it really is, I’m sure. It’s no trans-Pacific move, like the last time.
What happens next? Where do I go? Where do you go? Where do we go? You may say it’s the next step in the journey. I say, and I steal these words: the chase is afoot.
Watch this space. Tell your friends.
We moved last weekend. Long distance. Over the hill and across the street. The only thing that got broken was the glass carousel tray in my microwave. Good luck.
Thanks.
Mostly done now.
Congratulations!
I hit submit too quickly…My father in law plugged our old and new addresses into his GPS and found out we’d moved exactly 1/10th of a mile. ROFL