Are We Excited to Move?
The Question Proved Profound
A couple holds hands walking toward the sunrise over the water, photo by Igor Rodrigues on Unsplash.
"Are you excited about moving, or is leaving hard?"
A screened mesh canopy tent separated us from the mosquitos in the backyard of a friend's house.
A combination of burning wood in the chimenea and incense scented the air. Sticky from the humidity, life felt comfortable and familiar with our friends.
The thoughtful question, pitched to my husband and me, intrigued me.
Another full-circle moment.
The question hung in the air as I felt another cycle emerge of letting go and allowing for something new.
My book Building A Dream: The Joyous, Twisty Journey to Breaking Ground on a Beach House spins the end of my career to pursue retirement.
Did I get any better at this journey with this latest transition round?
We had been packing, pitching, donating, and evaluating every material possession. A rigorous review determined an item's worthiness to travel cross country.
Curious to hear my husband's response, I waited.
As family and friends learned of the house build progress, they cheered us on with kudos and "I bet you are so excited" comments.
In the cozy backyard, the thoughtful question piqued my interest; in asking, my friend understood we could also be conflicted.
"Leaving," my husband said.
So. We were on the same page.
We had learned to become tempered in our excitement. Though exciting, building a house in another state had been extended. Hearing kitchen appliances going in next week meant two weeks (possibly longer). Our emotions emerged steady with time's drumbeat.
I anticipated the best outcome, yet, setbacks often didn't surprise me. Even exasperation turned even-tempered. With the hit of each milestone, applause, then a reset for the next step.
But letting go had become a whole new level of experience.
I'd let go of my career identity. Now childhood and family memorabilia overtook me. The pull and tug between the inner child wanting to keep material possessions and the adult who stepped in and said, "This isn't the only keepsake of mom's."
This period of condensed practice taught me to let go faster.
Daily, I nudged along—often by something greater than myself—letting go of something I couldn't the day before. Donating to Goodwill made letting go more straightforward. Or perhaps, the friendly older gentleman at the garage door made passing the baton feel reassuring and rewarding.
Then, accepting quiet moments, re-reading dozens of discovered letters and notes received in high school. My teenage self wanted me to remember, so my adult self indulged.
Days later, I asked my husband what he found hard to leave.
"Family and friends."
I have yet to face up to that.
Those teenage letters highlighted an early life lesson: we leave behind, feel the depth of our emotions, unwittingly grow and create something new.
Life hasn't only played us with its ebbs and flows.
We receive gifts too.
For me, past beginning teenage relationships still fill my life, including my husband. Some things are meant to endure.
We are uplifted, anchored in the constant, in the face of transition.
Also, I was the kid who grew up with grandparents, family, and friends who lived in Mexico.
Apart is not separate.
Still, when will it hit me, being a flight away? Likely in Florida.
My imagination takes root—for now—imagining visits to our new place.
Now, that is something to get excited about.
Conclusion: Life’s Full Circle
“If I accept the sunshine and warmth, then I must also accept the thunder and lightning.”
How intriguing life is, determined to stun and alert me to another full circle moment just as I finish this blog. Uncovered handwritten papers earlier placed aside caught my attention—three pages of quotes. Scanning the list of quotes, I chose to close with the one above.
Then I read this on the last page:
"Dear Anita,
This (the quotes) is your 16th birthday present..."
Signed by my particularly brilliant high-school friend, we'd lost touch. And, yet, not at all.
A connection resurfaced in a letter, a gift of quotes.
Apart is not separate.