This is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. Moving, that is. It's all just logistical detail until the day(s) arrive when you're actually vacating a space you've loved for over 6 years. My generally stoic father even got a little teary-eyed as our voices echoed a little more in the rooms with each piece that was taken out.
Currently, I am sitting on the oversized (for me) khaki microsuede couch in my friends' house, my temporary new home for the next 2 months. Watching Game of Thrones, passively listening to the family puttering around the house, reading over old notes, and composing this post, I catch myself wondering if I've made a mistake. Did I make a reckless idiotic decision?
But then I remember every conversation I've had over the past several months. I remember making this decision. I remember knowing early on that it would be a challenge and that it would be hard to leave. I remember that I know I need to give myself the chance to find out what I love because life is short, and sometimes we have to take a step back in order to give ourselves room to grow.
So while I feel incredibly sad and insanely fucking scared, I remember that nothing I love is being left behind because it is all a part of me. I am only saying goodbye to my old stuff, things, and routines in order to say hello to a whole new world of opportunity.
The most amazing realization of the process so far is this: I'm really doing it. I'm not just talking about it- I'm really doing what I said I was going to do. Nearly 7 months ago I said I would quit my job and change my life... I worked my final day at my miserable job last week (thank god!), I'm completely out of my apartment, and the stage is set for anything to be able happen. I am wide open for the unexpected, and it's the most intensely liberating feeling I've ever had because I chose it.
I own my days again. I own my life. I am making peace with my tired worn goodbye and embracing a radiant new hello.
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