Tuesday, 17 November 2015

The State of Moving.

I'm moving house. Again! I've moved so many times in my life. Mostly in my twenties, where I'd always find myself in some kind of pickle that I needed to get out of quickly. (Usually very quickly, like, immediately.)

For the past four months I've been staying in my friend Louise's beautiful little cottage secreted near the lake in Wentworth Falls. It's been quiet and healing and beautiful. And so, so sad. I've cried so many tears in this house. I've looked in the mirror and raged. I've cried out to my brother, to God, to something or someone to help me through. I've wondered what the hell am I going to do with the rest of my life ... what's to become of me? It's been insidiously painful to separate from my husband, to not be part of the family unit anymore, to witness the pain and confusion in my children eyes. But I had to leave. For a myriad of reasons, I knew I had to leave. Usually it's the man who leaves the family home. In this case, I did. I left the safety and security and jeez Eden wouldn't it have been better if you'd just stayed and not rocked the boat? Being stripped of my role as homemaker and mother and wife .. I've had to face myself and who I am. Who AM I?

I've been alone, which I like. But I've also been the most lonely I've ever felt ever. Being lonely is not always a bad thing, and I finally got used to my aloneness. It's been horrendously necessary.

So this cottage has always been temporary - it's beautiful, I've lit the fire all through winter and bought my own wood in and stacked it and been terrified of the huntsmen spiders who are out to kill me. I made that fire my bitch and I made myself warm - nobody else made me warm. I'm not hiding behind any one or any thing. I have beautiful friends who've listened to me cry down the phone line, so patient and loving and caring. I have beautiful friends. I let them in and they've witnessed my pain and growth and despair and strength.

So, now it's time to move on. I inspected a place and put my application in and was told I had it all in a matter of days - boom. Here's your gorgeous art deco apartment with high ceilings and a beautiful sunroom and renovated kitchen and bathroom and storage space. I have fallen entirely in love. I want to live there forever. It reminds me of a bohemian apartment tucked away in a laneway in the south of France. I have a lot of stuff to do in my new apartment. Big stuff.

It's so new and bright and shiny and waiting just for me. I picked the keys up yesterday and today I'm going to start to move my stuff in. I need some kind of truck situation but I'll bumble my way through like I always do. I'm a great bumbler. I have my entire belongings in a storage facility which I haven't checked once in the past four months. Part of me is scared of looking at all my stuff - I hate stuff. Want to light a match and watch it burn, baby. But my Chesterfield lounge is going to look PERFECT in the living room and I need all my special plates I bought from New York and my spoon collection and the rest of my cowboy boots and framed photos of my kids and all of the clothes I've completely forgotten about. My dresses! I want to wear my dresses again and be surrounded by my special objects like that hand-painted cow skull with the huge horns and my Pulp Fiction poster and the twenty notepads I've been writing in for decades.

All these pieces of me will be all reunited, like putting a jigsaw puzzle back together. I know I won't be lonely in my new place and even if I am I've made friends with my loneliness anyway. I've made friends with a lot of the yucky parts of myself this year. Shone a torch on the dark and murky stuff inside of me. Kept digging into myself like an archaeologist and I've clung on like a barnacle. I think I'm starting to accept and love myself. Do I not deserve to feel ok? I don't want spectacular or incredible or wondrous. Contrary to popular opinion, happiness is not a right. We have to feel all the other things too ... which makes happiness and joy feel so good when they come visit.

I'm even going to hold dinner parties. And force people to play Trivial Pursuit during dessert because I've always loved the hell out of a board game.

I'm still standing. My boys will come for the week on/week off thing that separated parents do. And I'll dig my slow cooker out and make delicious meals again because I forgot I'm a good cook. I forgot a lot of things. It's going to be so nice to introduce myself to myself - hey Eden, this is Eden. And guess what - you ain't that bad after all.

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