Holding Patterns and Going Home
You know that thing that happens when you're on a flight and the flight isn't yet cleared for landing? The circling over and over again right on top of your final destination is killer, isn't it? You're bored. You're tired. You need real air instead of climate control. You want the sun on your face and a decent meal...
That's me, waiting for this move to be complete.
To recap, despite being invited to stay as a 'roomate' when my marriage ended, I opted to move out in June. I just couldn't handle being in such close proximity with all that grief and unrequited love. I did try because it made financial sense for both of us, but I just couldn't handle it. I left my studio here because there was no way I could afford a place that would be roomy enough to house it, packed up a few things, and moved in with a lovely housemate.
Two weeks after moving in, the DAY I unpacked my books, my housemate and I were informed that the property we were sharing was going up for sale. OMGDOOM. We did, however, have until December to sort things out. I was made extremely anxious by the thought of being subject to people tromping in and out, viewing the property, and I really didn't want to move in winter, so I started looking immediately.
Almost immediately, I found this lovely place, applied, and was approved. OMGSQUEE! I found out that I was to be the happy, serene occupant near the end of July.
I agreed to move in at the end of August to give my landlady the time to do some upgrades (new bathroom tile, etc) and ever since, I've been in a holding pattern. I've been circling my final destination. Waiting. Waiting.
The wait is almost over.
Can you feel the waves of delight and peace coming off me as I write? Because, srsly. I can't wait to unpack my books and set up my kitchen and cook meals and have people over, light candles and listen to music and walk around nekkid (after my guest leave, of course!). I can't wait to decorate my space and make it my own. I can't wait to wake up and have coffee on the patio. I can't wait to have my first fire in the fire pit. I can't wait to walk the trail behind the house and visit with my little river.
Holding patterns are exhausting. I feel a little bit like my healing has been on hold. I feel like my healing can't really begin until I'm no longer waiting. I need to be settled, to put down some roots, to have a place to go quiet and still. And that's coming so very soon. This coming weekend. By Sunday, I will be surrounded by boxes, but I will be home.
***
Home is a funny thing. I've always felt homeless. An orphan of sorts, with no 'home' to go home to like they do in the movies. My kids are grown, so I'm not home making any more. I have wailed to my therapist a few times over the last year and a half while my marriage crumbled into a heap of regret and sorrow that I just want to be home. I want to feel home.
What I'm beginning to realize is that I know the way home. *I* am home.
This tender space in the center of my chest- that's home.
It'll be nice, though, to have my outsides match my insides.
Talk to you later, sweet taters. Wish me luck with the move!
