Moving

It has begun. We’re moving.  It would be nice to say we’re moving in. But we’re just moving out.

Unemployment paid me a surprise visit a few months ago. At first it was just over-nighting. (Or so I thought). Then it was passing through. Then all of a sudden, it lived here. Food was less, bills were more and my unwelcomed visitor just won’t leave. We tried to work with it. We tried working around it. But unemployment just doesn’t work.

The financial strain of living on less requires a new strategy. Otherwise we’ll soon be looking for a creative strategy for living on none.  So, we’re moving out. We’re leaving our home of almost 10 years. This was our first place. We’ve had our best parties, arguments, kisses and Christmases here. And now it’s all crammed into boxes and bags. The rooms are empty. The walls are naked. The cabinets are bare. My heart is broken.

I can’t help but feel the full weight of responsibility for this unscheduled shift in our lives. I’m usually good at letting go. I don’t forget quickly, (my friends will nod here) because I’m cautious not to repeat past mistakes, but I do forgive. (Friends, you should also nod here). Up until now, I thought I’d succeeded. I thought I’d let go of being let go. But as I look around at cold floors once warmed by soft rugs and empty windows once draped by heavy curtains I made myself, I am angry.  I am hurt. My heart is heavy. My fists are firm. My jaw is clenched. And I’m afraid I don’t like you very much. (You know who you are.) I shall have to start over. Anger and heartache won’t let me heal, so now my soul must move, as I do.

When we packed in preparation to move, things first had to be sorted. Over time there are many things. Things you accumulate in duplicate, things you were given, things you bought, things lost, things found, things you love but don’t use, things you use but don’t love. Not all of these things you’ll take with you. Most things you warily wrap, precociously package and lovingly label. These things you’ll keep. But some things will be thrown away. Bagged and left by the curb for collection.

Likewise, I am moving inwardly. I’ve completed my sorting. The knowledge I gained and friends I’ve made, I take with me.  But the rest… The disappointment, the anger, the hurt, the frustration, the confusion, the doubt, the self pity, the tears, the sleeplessness, the heartache, the worry, the whys, the whynots, the past and you, I throw away. I do not like you, but I forgive you. I won’t forget you, but I’ve already bagged you and left you at the curb for collection. Because I am moving. Moving out. And moving on. It has begun.