We moved a month ago, and things got pretty chaotic and unsettled during that time. I wasn't working out regularly, made some mistakes with food and was running back and forth between two different living spaces. Adam and I hustled to get out home ready to be put on the market and at the same time did our best to settle into a new space. Although I still maintained some regular practices and a work schedule, I was constantly feeling like the floor was going to drop out from me.
I am still in a bit of that in between time, leaving one thing behind and walking towards something new. That little bit of tug of war, this is where I want to go, but back there is where my needs were met. We lived in the same house for over 10 years, and it is easy to forget how long it took for that place to feel like "home." Was it the point when we started hanging up photos? Was it when we bought a couch and some furniture? Was it the first time we heard Sterling running around at night trying to find us? I wanted some sort of metric to decide "it is going to be okay."
Even though I was ready to move out of that house and into a move space there has still be a lot of grief, a lot of giving things away and saying good bye that I didn't expect. Added to that feeling is the uncertainty of a new space, the intimidation of decorating, of changing things around and transforming into something new. It is a gap, it is an uncomfortable place where I just need to keep going, keep adjusting the compass to what I want.
This week I have really made it a point to find time in my day to do a regular physical practice, to go to a new class or sit down and relax in the new apartment. Just sit, don't worry about blank space, or that it is still a mess, or that I still can't remember where my socks are. This morning I went for a walk, I am a bit ashamed to say it has been a while since I went for a good long walk out in nature. After about a mile, my muscles were protesting, and my breathing was labored. So I turned around and headed home.
Knocking me out of my stories was this beautiful peacock. It had to jump out in front of me to get my attention. I watched it twirl in the driveway for a few moments and found one of those moments. That moment when it feels like you arrived somewhere, that something let go, that the miles to go don't matter. Maybe this will be one of those moments when this new space starts to feel like home, or maybe this is just a gift of being present and realizing the floor is not going to drop out from under me.