Lost in Place
I have always had a way of thriving off of the requirements of high-energy situations. I avoid writing "crisis" or "chaos" because I don't think I want to affirm that in my life, but they may be the most accurate way of communicating what I'm trying to describe.
I LOVE the excitement of problem-solving with a *short* deadline. I know this is one of the key ingredients in my deep love of live theatre. Last week, we had an actor out sick, and had to figure out how to go on with the show (actor with a script), two months ago a prop needed finishing 20 minutes before opening night, then at intermission a prop broke and needed repair with five minutes left before the top of the second act. DELICIOUS.
This is important in understanding my current situation. In the middle of a major life shift/move. As we wait to close on our new home and current home sales...
Granted, I can't be quite so hard on myself, this I know. Packing isn't fun. At least, not for most people. I can FIND the fun in packing... I like fitting things together, afterall. (this is why LEGOs are so successful, I'm sure of it, because it is so satisfying to fit things together) And I like where all this packing is going, but I know that I am being slowed by my fears and excuses and tiredness...
Until now, there has been this amorphous "sometime this month" we need to be ready to move "deadline." Now there is an endpoint. There is a date. There is a clearly defined timeline, and I expect to feel like there is a surge of energy, readiness, to rise to the urgency of the situation.
But no. I sit. I yawn. I resist. I grumble. Probably because MOVING SUCKS.
Even when the move is exciting (scary), and promising (scary), and delicious (scary), and you feel so ready (scared), there is no getting past the fear of change except to move through it. I have these visions of all the times I have moved (over 20) and all the times I've been caught by a time capsule of items and have to crawl my way out of the dark pit of "identities gone by" that comes with going through everything you've ever owned, or at least what's left of it.
I vacillate between the freedom of choosing what's next for me, and the fear that I don't know what that is. Even though there are all of these things I know... I know how to return to self to stay grounded. And here I am flailing. And so it's true and not true all at the same time. Or maybe just by writing this I am able to remember the truth.
I gotta go pack.