I've lived in this house by the sea for the last ten-plus years. Last spring I could begin to feel the tug that is was almost time to leave. I didn't know how or why, but I just knew in my bones that my time here was almost up and that all the lessons I was meant to learn under this roof, alongside the rhythm of the twice daily tides, were close to complete. Honestly, I thought we'd be moving as a family. We will be moving as a family, but just not in the same way I thought.
A wise Buddhist friend once told me that our outer world is a direct, physical manifestation of our inner world. While the view is sublime, the actual structure of this late 1800's cottage is held together and shored up by shims and tape and rags. Windows are starting to go. The electrical needs serious work. Everything is jerry-rigged and aching for an update. The biggest problem has been a persistent leak in the roof that we've been chasing since we moved in. Every fix, even re-shingling the house, has failed and we still get water dripping in when it rains.
At one point it dawned on me that on a very basic level, I am not safe from the elements in my own house, which seemed sort of sadly ridiculous once I realized it. The snow blows through the sagging sashes. The cold waltzes right in when it's below freezing. There are buckets by the couch when it rains. It is amazing what gets normalized, what you can choose to see past, and how committed you can become to all the fixing.
This is exactly what it has felt like living inside my marriage, chasing leaks, plugging holes, and visioning creative work arounds when really structurally, in one or two very critical places, it just wasn't sound. Many parts of it were absolutely soul-stirring and spectacular, just like the breathtaking sunrises and sunsets over the basin. There is all the beauty and love of a twenty-five year long relationship to grieve. It is also true that I can not stay now that I can see what I see, and I am who I've worked so hard to become. Complete in my own heart for the very first time.
Where I'm going...
I've looked at almost two dozen apartments and none of them have been right. It's a terrible time of year to be looking to move, yet I'm still hopeful the right thing will eventually find me. I don't have specifics around what I am looking for, but I know exactly what is a No as soon as I walk through the door. I have deep and abiding faith and focus on this one next step and how essential it seems to my belonging to the future I can not yet see, but am living into with everything I've got. My mantra has been, keep going, even when sometimes it all feels overwhelmingly impossible to do.
In other moments I can feel the calm and sturdiness that is growing inside of me, pulling me towards the other side. All the energy that once went into piecing something together is now being channeled into building something new. With it, is also the promise of a glorious release. I can feel how my body seems lighter and stronger with every step I take towards setting down everything that isn't mine, the idea of it calling me home in every incarnation of the word. Every molecule in me wants to land and root down, but it's not quite time. I have to be patient. I have to be with what is. I have to keep my gaze on my boys. I have to keep letting go. I have to trust myself more than I've ever had to before.
There, I am already Home.