A Slow Jump Into Change

It has been a quiet year for blog writing. Also reading, painting and genealogy research. Many of the activities that bring me pleasure were abandoned as efforts were refocused on a more pressing priority. We have been in the middle of an interminable move.  Who knew it could consume just under a year? And so much physical and emotional energy. 

We decided to do it in a seemingly low-stress way. Having heard tales of people moving in very short time spans, we opted for the more costly, but lower stress strategy of buying first, updating, moving, and then the overwhelming task of fully emptying and disposing of our old home of close to 30 years. In hindsight, we traded one stress for another. We’re now at the “when will it be over” stage as we prepare our old home for sale. It is an experience that others in our condo building have all shared. They nod knowingly as we relate our woes.

 

I don’t remember my move to my former home being complicated. The decision had a different impetus. I had split up with a long-distance beau and decided I no longer wanted to put life decisions on hold, waiting for someone else’s concurrence. The home I was then living in was once shared with a former spouse. It was time to choose a home for me.

 

I didn’t have much furniture and apparently far fewer belongings. My handyman had a truck. I packed a few boxes, and they, together with my old furniture, magically appeared in my new and larger home. I bought new furniture and my now husband, then a new relationship, gradually moved a few pieces of furniture in along with himself.  After a time, his daughter who shared his townhome, had said, “Dad, don’t you think it’s time you left home.” And so, he did, selling his townhome to her and moving in officially.

 

Our time in our old home included years of collecting art as well as treasures from our travels. Years of having a home with lots of storage space. Years in which parents and sometimes siblings passed away.  We acquired the detritus of our parents’ lives as well as our own. And years in which we went through the disposal of parents’ homes and belongings, so had the beginnings of an appreciation that someday loved ones will be going through that process with our own belongings.

 

So, what led to this decision? It wasn’t an overnight decision. Neither my husband nor I are impulsive with big decisions, except of course when we got married after only knowing each other for fourteen years. We had no idea how long a new home might take. In fact, we looked for two and a half years, conscious that we were getting older and might prefer something that would simplify our lives. There were times that we each claimed we could have decided sooner if it was just up to us, but of course this time concurrence was necessary. It is a strange thing to imagine your future self and consider what future self might prefer. My very fit husband was biking 34 miles round-trip to our studio and reminding me that he wasn’t getting any younger. I was noticing stairs and gardening becoming more uncomfortable physically. We knew it wasn’t going to get easier and wanted to be in an environment where we could continue our active lives more easily.

What environment was that? We began by looking downtown and along the river, close to our studios and cutting my husband’s bike ride substantially. With that we were introduced to the idea of loft living, which originally sounded quite romantic, the stuff of movies. We looked at many of them and realized that light typically entered at one end, unless one found a coveted corner unit. Everything was focused on how to spread that light through what often was a long space. And trees. There usually weren’t any, although occasionally one might find one sheltering a balcony. Or you might see some in the distance.  For a long time, I felt like we were playing dress up, trying on different places and wondering who we’d be within them. Pulling the trigger 

was an entirely different decision.

 

When you look long enough, you begin to identify what really matters to you. And you begin to accept the hard reality that you may not find everything you want in one place. And that may be OK. I have often likened it to a relationship. You give up some things in exchange for the things that really matter. And then you throw in a bit of exhaustion to grease the skids. While I have a long research phase in decision making, ultimately I tiptoe up to the edge, swallow hard and jump. True to form, that is exactly what I did, only now it was a “we.”  And I have to say, I don’t know that I would have moved solo. Having my husband along for the ride helped immensely.

 I couldn’t imagine the path to get there, but figured other people do it and we could be other people too. I’m not so sure that’s true, but it is just as well I had that assumption, or I might have backed away. And that would have been a mistake. We are pleased with our decision, just not enjoying the tail-end of the process to get there. And I’ve learned that moving, at least disposing of one’s history, is not my skill set. As someone immersed in genealogy, it runs counter to my nature. 

At the end of the day, I needed light and trees in a walking neighborhood. We looked at several places in an area that offered that, not as close to our studios, but closer than our prior home. We both loved the area but held out until a corner unit with ceiling to floor windows facing the park became available. And then we both jumped. I picture us floating through space holding hands as we free fall into change.  

 

Stay tuned for Claiming Our Space