Right now, I'm typing this blog post in a living room full of boxes. It's an awkward thing to see everything you own stored away, waiting. This isn't the first time I've moved, and it certainly won't be the last. As a kid I moved around a lot. I didn't get attached to a space very easily, it was the people that made a home, the four walls that contained us were impermanent and didn't really matter much to me. As an adult, I've continued the tradition of moving around every few years and again, never really allowed myself to care about the container as much as the contents. In fact, as a kid I looked forward to moving, the change was always exhilarating, like starting a new chapter in life.
This time feels a little different though. This home was the first shared with not only my husband and I, but our son as well. There have been a lot of important transformations accomplished in this house. The Sycamore, Catalpa and Juniper Trees always felt full of magic, like guardians helping us along through our emotional struggles and spiritual growth. The big yard was comforting and beautiful. The giant pine trees towered above us like a natural fortress that created the illusion of our home being the only one in a never ending forest. When I walked through each room in the early hours of morning while the boys slept soundly in their beds, I have to admit, tears were swelling in my eyes. I didn't expect for this to happen. After all, I have been sooo excited about moving to the Texas coast! I've been counting down the days for two months. I've been googling pictures and videos of the beach for weeks. But today, I felt the sadness of change.
I realized that all the other times of change in my adult life have come during times of chaos and upheaval. It has rarely been a smooth transition, but rather one of hurried packing and rushed plans. I never had the time to think about the changes before they happened. Change always came at me like a hurricane. It forced me into survival mode, and whatever tumultuous event had thrown us out of our comfort zone always overshadowed the act of moving itself. This time, we found out we were moving months ago. We packed slowly, one nook, one closet at a time. We prepared our son. I got to take time to look at pictures and yearbooks and remember forgotten memories. Now that it's all put away a week early, and the time for change is nearly upon us, I've been blessed with time to think, time to contemplate everything our little family has been through over the past few years. Memories of birthday parties and my son reading for the first time. Memories of arguments, and soul nurturing late night conversations with my husband. Memories of searching inside myself, and finding the strength to follow my heart. All of those things and more have happened within these walls, and the ghosts of the past seem to be stirred up, giving me a chance to say goodbye and gain closure before we leave.
I like this new way of change. It's full of emotion. Ironically, learning to feel my emotions has been a huge part of my spiritual transformation. For so many years, change meant the potential for things to go wrong, for things to fall apart. When the winds of change would sound their cry, I tended to ignore the inevitable, live in delusion about the reality unfolding around me. At the last minute, when the waves were visible on the shoreline, I would scurry around and quickly do what needed to be done to avoid complete disaster. Now, I think of change differently. It isn't something I fear, it is something I have learned to embrace. We all go through transitions, the future unfolds in layers. It's nice to take things slow, and soak it all in. The last time my husband and I moved away, things didn't work out so well. In fact, the aftermath of our disastrous move to California created it's own kind of hell on earth that will leave it's imprint for the rest of my life. It catapulted both of us on a serious, life altering initiation into the harshness of adulthood, and prepared us for the next stage of our life together. Part of me wants to anxously anticipate the possibilities of disaster with this trip as well. Part of me wants to freak out, and close my eyes and take a nap until we're all settled into the new place. But detaching from myself during times of change has been a recurring theme in my life. One that has been damaging, and made it impossible for me to be aware of the actions and consequences of myself and others. Again, I won't go back to those old ways, but will face this head on, with my eyes wide open.
I just want to say "thank you little home in East Texas. You held us when we needed it and brought us closer together. You have given us the space to grow and make wise choices and become better people. Thanks for all the memories and I hope the next family is blessed with your magic as well."
Alright, deep breathe...now I'm ready for the beach, the new baby and my new career. I'm ready for the next layer to unfold. It's amazing how gentle and slow even the largest transitions can be when you're actually paying attention. Bring it on life, I'm ready for you.