Fingers crossed

I'm at loose ends lately, literally and figuratively. At this very moment about a third of my belongings are packed into cardboard boxes neatly stacked by the front door, another third in bags awaiting transport to Goodwill and the final third deemed too necessary for my everyday quality of life to be rounded up just yet.

I find it hard to determine whether I prefer moving or not moving. At least with moving there's the distraction of the magical, perfect life that awaits in the new house. There's always a magical, perfect life waiting. But it comes at a cost. I have to delicately pry my white-knuckled fingers away from the things I hold onto, the sense of home, the place of belonging I've created for myself. It's terrifying. Every time it's terrifying, and yet I do it anyway.

I relish it, truth be told, because as scary as it is, there's always something more interesting in the churning sea of unknown that waits below.  I guess that makes me some kind of adrenaline junkie.  I'll admit it, I've had my share of love affairs with the new and different and exciting.  It never works out for long because there's always a sexier new out there, but in the moment I'm always sure that this time...this is the one that'll stick.  This is the place I'll stay, this is the me I'll be.  This is the lie I'll tell myself.

I'm buying the house this time, you know.  Buying.  I'm making a commitment to a mortgage company that's intended to last longer than any relationship I've ever had...yes, even that one.  It's madness.  It goes against at least 60 percent of the fibers of my being.  What happens, I ask myself, when the urge to move again starts its determined creep up the length of my spine?  What happens when I get tired of being this me, of living in this place, of being practical?

Or worse yet...what happens if I don't?  What if I "settle down" and become complacent in this incarnation?  What if, at the tender age of 34, my promising life becomes something akin to a tired gray wad of chewing gum that's long since lost its flavor?

No, I don't like the sound of that.  But it could happen.

Of course some of me is excited about the settling down.  After all, it's something I've never really done before.  It's unknown.  It's interesting.  And maybe if I can find some way to stop moving all the time I can use that cash for other new things, like books, or a new bike, or a mind-blowing writer's retreat in a faraway land.  Maybe if I can commit to just this one little thing I can see what happens when the world stops spinning.  Maybe, I tell myself.  Maybe this is the one that'll stick.

xo,
C