There a picture somewhere. Packed up now. Or already moved over to my new place. It’s me, my mom, and a U-Haul truck if I remember correctly. In front of my childhood home. From when I moved to Kentucky the first time. I was 23 years old. Really, the only commonality in that move and this one, is the U-Haul truck.
I became a little weepy this morning, after I got up and wondered through the boxed up shambles of my current dwelling. Reflections. On the week, which was a rough one work wise, which in the kind of work I do, means life wise. But on the last years as well. I’ve lived here seven and a half years. The longest I’ve lived anywhere except my childhood home. So there are some memories here. Good, bad, ugly, important and ordinary and beautiful.
I don’t want to be sad though. Often, in my mind, the sad overrides the joyful. I allow it a bigger place. And I don’t want that. Especially not in this instance. I am fighting very hard for this not to be a “have to”. Downsizing is not easy. The realization that for years and years the place I lived was based upon my children and now that’s no longer necessary, is difficult. I hate classifications, but “empty nest” is not an easy term for me to embrace. Nor are the seemingly constant reminders that wifeliness is next to Godliness. (not my opinion, thanks)
I have a friend who has told me to look forward. Not dwell on the past. As do my children. All three have been encouraging. Others as well. And I’m trying. I’m trying in so many areas of my life and I’d like to just take a short break and not try anything! Because self improvement is difficult. Understatement of the year.
While meandering through my boxed up existence, I opened the blinds and gazed outside. The van was out front. Because I drove the work van home last evening in order to move some stuff to the apartment. The van is now covered in blue words. Previously it was all white. The word which caught my attention first was “courageous”. Most likely because it’s in larger font and pretty much in the middle.
Courageous is a good word for me though because…well, because I need courage. Change, no matter the sort, often takes a bit of bravery to face, right? At least for me as I can often be anxiety ridden and overcome by my own emotions. So I am moving ever forward, actually one mile southwest, hopefully courageously.
Courage also though, not just in this physical relocation, but as I strive to be. As I try to exist as myself. With myself. That might not make sense. It does to me though. I often feel so torn that I need to be more this or that or like someone else. Comparison and all that. Am I being who and what I need to be to the people I love? It’s difficult to ask myself if I am perhaps, not the person I want to be. Not supportive enough, not helpful enough, not compassionate enough, not so many, many things. Or if my sincerity is coming through as a fake pride, which is not my intent.
And now as I reread the above I am curious as to if it’s too much of a self confession to publish. Probably not, so I will. If asked what I want to be, I would say an encourager. If asked what words I want used to describe me, I’d include I want to be someone who encourages. And that word includes “courage”. So both are something to strive for, I’d say.
I can get wrapped up in my mind and think situations much more serious than they are. The fact is, I am packing up and moving one mile. Basically the same neighborhood. Just a bit smaller of a place. My life is not going to necessarily change a great deal. But I want this to be a marker, even if small in the long run, of a positive turn. Though I often let it connote negativity, the fact that this move, for the first time in my entire life, includes only me, is a very exciting aspect. So I’m gonna choose to be joyful. And courageous. And hopefully not fall down the stairs as I attempt to carry boxes to the second floor. I’m somewhat clumsy but that is not one of the words I’m striving to be…