moving out | Evening Light

I am inclined to think of my recent move as “over” – a past event in my life. Recorded history. Completed. It isn’t. It’s more a process, than a task, and it is ongoing.

So many boxes yet to be unpacked! Is this a metaphor?

I spent my lunch break, yesterday, taking a carload of packing boxes to the local recycling center. That seems fairly “moving” related, to me. lol In the afternoon, my Traveling Partner and I met with a roofing contractor, to get an estimate on some roof repairs. Moving related. After my shift, I unpacked 21 boxes of books and “whatnot” (objects, tchotchkes, sentimental fragments from past lives, & assorted things that had been perched on or near a bookshelf that had no other obvious box into which they could be packed). I filled bookshelves with books. Definitely moving related. I broke down the boxes, and took those to the garage. More moving-related activity. lol

I still managed to leave a couple tasks on my list of things to do very much not yet done. Fatigue and the end of the day got to me, before I got to those. lol This feels like a move that is still in progress, for sure. I look out my studio window this morning, aware of the handful of boxes yet to be unpacked that are stacked behind me. I sip my coffee lacking any noteworthy fucks to give about that in this moment right here. It’s enough to wake rested, from pleasant dreams, in this quiet haven. It’s enough to make coffee, and slowly get myself together for a new day.

New day – new list of things to do. LOL

I continue to sip my coffee as the pre-dawn darkness shifts to morning light. My “to do list” slowly sheds moving tasks, in favor of everyday household chores and errands, day by day. I frown at my list – have I forgotten something? I have. I add it.

The delicious cool morning air fills the house. After yesterday’s heat (no A/C), my Traveling Partner left the windows open through the night. I woke to a comfortably cool home. Lovely. I wiggle my bare toes contentedly, thinking about the heat of the day ahead. It’s summer, here. The pandemic’s various stay-at-home/social distancing restrictions of the past 4 months create a surreal sort of “missing Spring” in my recollection. The move itself contributes; my attention was focused elsewhere, and I missed out on blooming flowers, morning walks, and lengthening days, somehow. The move again, if I include the house-hunt. That process began in mid-April, and wrapped up (by some measures) just a bit less than 3 months later (when the move out finished). I definitely spent more of that time thinking about paperwork, than spring flowers. lol

New day – new perspective. 🙂

I sit contentedly at my desk, drinking coffee. Dawn has become day. Pretty routine stuff. This new beginning is about shifting gears from getting moved, and embracing change, to living life, and enjoying the experience. Sure, I expect change will still be a thing. I feel myself shrug. I silently count waiting boxes. I look at the time. It’s definitely time to begin again. 🙂

Shouldn’t “embracing change” be easier than this? Is “easy” not actually “a thing”? Questions over coffee, on an overcast summer morning. My mind wanders unproductively between sips. The coffee is good, and that’s enough for this moment, right here.

I was sitting barefooted, cross-legged, in a favorite chair (the only comfortable chair in the new living room, presently… more room in the new house, same amount of furniture), on a morning so quiet I imagined I heard my Traveling Partner sigh as he woke, in another room. It’s a quiet house (so quiet!), and it seems unlikely that I actually heard the soft sound of his sigh, over my aquarium and my tinnitus. He approached a moment later, wearing his “just woke up” face. I offer to make coffee, and we share that. It is, generally speaking, a pleasant moment on a summer morning. I pretend, for the purposes of joy and love, that I’m not in the pain I’m in. I make room to be kind, and to listen, and to offer whatever support I can; he’s in pain, too. It’s been 10 days of fairly intense labor, getting moved out of the rented duplex, and into our home. For reasons of pandemic, and limiting exposure, we handled almost all of every bit of it ourselves, instead of hiring movers. I’m not sure I still think that was a great idea. lol

It was 10 days trying to get the internet set up. I wrote in the mornings, anyway. 🙂

“Home”. Damn, that sounds nice. I let the sound of it roll around in my thoughts contentedly for some moments. I find it so important to savor the successes – small, large, and in between. What I am suggesting is really taking time with those successes, enjoy and appreciate them, linger over their memory, and invest more of my cognitive and emotional bandwidth in that enjoyment and awareness, than I do in fussing over what didn’t work, or worked out uncomfortably or with problematic other outcomes. That “negativity bias” can really become an emotional wound, over time, swallowing up all the joy, and all the fun. Having a home of our own is a major milestone in our life together, and for me, in my own life as an individual human being. Huge win. Definitely needful to celebrate that. 🙂

I sip my coffee and look out the window of my new studio/office space here. I see the neighbor’s new fence, two pear trees, branches laden with young fruit hanging over the fence, and the cream-colored wall of their house just beyond. I see a sliver of gray sky. The neighbors – and neighborhood – are very pleasant, and very welcoming. Every new conversation begins in a similar way, with an apologetically, charmingly awkward excuse for not shaking hands or offering a hug; the pandemic is still a thing (very much so) in America.

…I hear my Traveling Partner call to me. As he wakes, his pain is more well-managed (mine, too, it seems very human). I want to hang out… I want to write. It’s been a while. There’s much to say, much to share. I think. Maybe. I mean… you’re here, reading, I should make that worth your while, yes? 😉 Perhaps, for now, this is enough?

Perspective, or view? What matters most? What is “enough”? Where does joy come from?

I sip my coffee. Finish my writing. I begin again.

A Few Minutes, A Few Boxes

What Matters Most?

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