I haven’t moved yet, but the prospect of moving in two weeks time has got me distracted from everything else. I am finishing old projects that have turned up, organizing my belongings, and getting rid of garbage one bag at a time. We have packers coming to do the big work of boxing it all up, but I’ve still got to sort out what needs to be taken, and what should be given away, recycled, composted, or trashed.
While I feel that I have the moving part under control, I have to admit that I occasionally get a bit scared about moving to Gabriola. I’ve been pretty committed to urban living for a long time, and there’s a part of me that worries that I am not ready to go back to the country just yet. On the other hand, whenever we go out to our cabin in the woods (which we just did for five amazing days this past weekend) – I never want to leave, and re-entering the city feels like a big drag. And then when I imagine living steps from the sea, I get really excited. So – really, I’m feeling all the feelings. I have loved my home and my neighbourhood for a long time, I am also ready to move on from this house, but I don’t want to leave because leaving is change and change is who knows what next?
Right? Right. Moving residence is a thing I haven’t done for awhile – not since I came back from the Sunshine Coast nine years ago – and I am provoked by the reality of it. The hugeness of the undertaking. The smallness of its importance to anyone else but me.
I’m not sure if I’ll get to post much in the next couple of weeks – we’ll see. But if I don’t, rest assured that I am just gently freaking out as the days tick by and pretty soon it will all be done.