I have moved before. Many times. This move feels different, though.
The last time I moved, I was facing major changes in my life. I was preparing to leave the area that I had lived in for 20 years. I’d lived in different houses and different towns, but they were always fairly close to where I’d lived before. On top of sorting and packing and such, I was also planning my wedding, making food and decorations for said wedding, and carrying on a long distance relationship with my husband. Saying goodbye was difficult, but it was layered over with so many other things that I was overwhelmed and didn’t feel the loss as strongly. It didn’t sink in until after we had moved, and I battled depression and homesickness for several months afterward.
This time, it is both easier and harder. I’m already married, and I have Mr. Gecko to lean on when it gets overwhelming. I have never been to that part of the country, but I’ve seen pictures and heard stories, and I am really looking forward to being there. I think I will like the area better. My joints may prefer the heat, but I prefer the cold.
The hard part is saying goodbye. Goodbye to the wonderful friends that we’ve made here. Goodbye to a strikingly beautiful area that is quite a bit different than anywhere I’ve been. Goodbye to a job I really enjoy, a volunteer “job” I love, and a quirky little town that I have grown to appreciate. Unlike the last move, there is no happy wedding to plan, no longing for Mr. Gecko to hide the pre-missing of people I love and admire.
Six weeks is not long enough for this sort of thing. The time is flying by faster than I ever thought it would (it’s only 5 weeks now). Though I don’t have to pack our things this time (we won’t even talk about the anxiety that is causing the obsessive part of my brain), I have been sorting and gathering in preparation for a massive garage sale, while also making a list of things I need to clean. I still feel like I’m not getting enough done, though. When I feel myself getting anxious about the move, I channel that energy into sorting. Or yoga. Or both.
Six weeks is too long for this sort of thing. Every visit, every interaction is framed in my mind as a sort of mini-goodbye. Yes, there are promises of visiting, made more likely by the fact that we will be moving to a stunning area and into a house with a guest room. But all the little, almost-daily things- the laughter, the support, the confidences, the routines, will be gone. There is a part of me that recognizes each day as one less chance to appreciate each of those things, that understands that I will soon be missing each of them. It is a bit of a grieving process for me, one that I am working my way through while still being around the people that I am letting go. Some of them I will see again, but our relationships will not be the way they are now.
Preparing to move this time around is certainly different, both easier and more difficult. Once we get to our new home, I intend to become more involved. I’ve already found a yarn shop with a knitting group (I hope they let crocheters come and play). I’ll be looking for a church home once we are there, and we plan to start exploring the area right away.