Moving. Cities this time. I’ve moved 18 times in my life. In fact I only just counted them up for this post. Tomorrow, the movers arrive and my home starts moving up to Auckland. 19. That’s more than once every 2 years. Which is a humbling thought. Am I that much of a nomad? I read about people who have tiny houses on trailers and I admire them. It gives them a way to shift without shifting.
Leaving things behind is always hard. It’ll be easier for this move than for the last big one (5 moves ago) to New Zealand. (Jesus. 5 moves within New Zealand before this one.) At least this time, the family of friends in the place I’m leaving will still be in the same time zone. And many of them visit my new city regularly (and I plan to go back regularly for different events). The frantic ‘what time is it there?’ calculations aren’t needed for them. But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss them.
I think that’s why I’ve been able to handle the long distance relationship with the Best Beloved. I miss him all the time, I wish I could be with him (and soon our relationship won’t be long distance any more). But I’m used to feeling that way about people I care about. I’m used to not being able to be there every time I want to be. That said, I can’t wait to start adjusting to seeing him often, with no long waits between visits. I’ve said before that I still want to take some of the lessons from long distance into the same-city relationship. Making the most of time together. Focusing on each other when we are together. Being demonstrative about how I feel in many different ways.
I’m excited for the new job. The new city. The new home. But I think this is the saddest I’ve been to leave a place since I was very small. I remember sitting in the back of the car, aged 5, when we were moving to Basingstoke from Portsmouth. I remember crying. My grandma being in the car with us. I didn’t want to go. Just like years later, for the 13th move (unlucky for some) to New Zealand. I sat on the plane, having kept my composure, just, for saying goodbye to my parents. Having cried on the bus ride home a few days before, after seeing my best friend (who at that point still lived in a different country). I clipped in my seatbelt. The plane began to move and that was when the finality of it struck me. I burst into tears. “I don’t want to go,” I said. “Yes you do.” said my now-ex, refusing as so often before or after to be sensitive to what I was feeling.
I don’t know quite how I’m going to feel on Tuesday, going to the airport and getting on the plane. I don’t know quite how I’m going to be tomorrow when the movers come. Teary, probably. I know that this move is the right decision. But I also know that change is never easy. And I’ve gone through a lot of it.
I’m leaving behind friends who took me in when I left my husband. Who invited me for Christmas celebrations. Who let me stay for what turned into 3 months and never asked questions. Who I’ve adventured with, yarn bombed with, dressed up as pirates and gone to the movies with (at the same time), who have sung me happy birthday while I held a flaming Tiki drink, who have taught me how to quilt, and make amigurumi, and be a better person. Who have inspired me, been co-conspirators, caretakers, drift-compatible Jaeger co-pilots, enemies and lovers (in games), superheroes, rock stars, and, most of all, a family. I’m going to miss them more than I can say.
But it’s time to start a nearly-new life in a new city. When I say I’m leaving my life in Wellington behind it’s not a cut-all-ties-burn-bridges parting. My family here will always be in my life. Just not in my house and social calendar as often as they are right now.
I don’t know quite where I’m going with this. It’s Things I Think About Thursday. This is what I’m thinking about. Yup. If you have thoughts of your own about moving and change, I’d love to hear them.