eleventhbeatnik

musings of an aquarian age counterculturist


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The Art of Moving On

Over the years I’ve become a seasoned expert in the art of transient living.  Or as the uninitiated might phrase it:  moving.

I am gradually making my way from room to room sorting through belongings.  Inventory time.  What will stay with me and what will go?  This pile for packing.  That pile for charity.  A pile here for selling.  A pile there for recycling.

Rule #1 for a frequent mover is to maintain a firm non-pack-rat-itis policy.  Collecting too much stuff or becoming overly attached to material things is danger zone territory.  Avoiding this trap makes it that much easier to part company with the goods when the time comes.  Even then, a certain level of ruthlessness is required when sorting through everything that originally passed the keeper litmus test.  After pile decisions are made, the lovely lightness of being that generally accompanies the liberation from unnecessary crap makes it all worthwhile.

This move is decidedly different.  This time, I’m struggling.  Deciding what goes has been painstaking.  I’m resistant to sealing up boxes in case I change my mind.  I feel unsteady and unsure.  Certainly not my usual characteristically focused self when it comes to changing residences and today I was reminded in a forceful way of why that is.

The person I expected to share my life with snuck up on me.  As I opened an envelope in a shoebox, I came face to face with forgotten photographs taken during the first year we were married.  Smiling, happy, shiny faces – his and mine.  Arms wrapped around each other, heads magnetically leaning in, expressions reflecting a moment that could not possibly be any better than it already was.  Photos of us together, with family, alone and smiling into the camera for one another.

I sat down on the floor with those images held close to my heart and cried for a very long time.  Who were those glowingly contented looking people?  Was that joy genuine and consistent, or simply a snapshot capturing a fleeting moment in time?  What did they really mean to each other?  I don’t know the answers and must accept that it is unlikely I ever will.

Yes, this move is different.  I am not merely swapping one address for another.  I am leaving behind all the hopes and dreams that were kept alive in this home for those two shiny, happy people who existed in those photographs but not real time.   A future dreamed, never to be realized.

This move means so much more than adopting a new postal code.   It marks my stepping forward into a brand new life.  Different dreams and uncharted terrain await.

In the leaving, I am taking a gigantic leap of faith into the unknown.  Letting go of old stuff.  Letting go of all the parts of myself that no longer fit. Letting go of the dreams that died within these walls.  Letting go.

It is time to take new photographs.

paparazzi sis

photo credit: eleventhbeatnik


Resistance is Futile

Hello again lovelies!

I have been silent on the blog lately, but behind the scenes it has been anything but sedate.  It is continuously astounding to me how much can change in the space of a few short weeks.  Or, for that matter, in the blink of an eye.

My New York journey was a resounding success.  I spent a great deal of time exploring, writing old-school style in a notebook, attending classes, walking neighborhoods, reconnecting with old friends, discovering wonderful new ones.  My days were beyond busy and my heart was overflowingly full.  When moments of uncertainty or pain resurfaced and threatened to overwhelm, I fully experienced the feelings, uncomfortable or otherwise, and allowed them to pass through.  Good days or bad days, I was never alone.  I experienced every possible emotion on any given day.  I was happy.  I was sad.  I was excited.  I was angry.  I was tired.  I was rejuvenated.  But most consistently?  I was alive.  ALIVE!!!  I embraced it all.

This was more than a trip to a special place.  It was a journey to myself.  Something irrevocably changed inside me.  I accepted the idea that it is not only okay, but critically important at this juncture to move forward.  I gave myself permission to dream again.  I made room for hope.  The essence of who I am remains the same but my perception has altered.  The main difference is that I am ruthlessly kicking that which no longer serves to the curb.  I am embarking on a life more in alignment with what feels right and true for me.  It no longer matters whether it is by choice or by design.  Resistance is futile and I understand that there is no turning back.

It is true that fear is a great motivator and it definitely plays a role here.  The last year has brought a lot of change already, welcome or not, and to actively court more requires courage.  The thing is that staying the same, not moving, being stuck scares me more than jumping into the unknown ever could.

I am here to tell you that I have officially  jumped off the cliff in more ways than I can get into now.  The power of non-resistance is more relevant than ever.  A decision has been made and now it is time to let go and allow.  Please wish this recovering Type A much luck with that.

The next few weeks are filled with craziness:  moving, applying for school, attending counseling, filing papers for Stage 2 of Divorce, buying smaller pants.

Updates to follow.  Stay tuned!

resistance is futile

Photo credit: Google Images/Creator Unknown