Our first home was a two bedroom condo situated in the midst of widows and retirees. We spent the first years of our marriage there, we brought the twins home from the hospital there, we watched them grow to toddling 18-month-old girls. But it was small and I couldn’t wait to move. I had dreams of a big backyard, a third bedroom and neighbors within at least 20 years of our current life stage.
When the day finally came to move into a house, I was shocked to discover a deep sadness that welled up out of me and wrapped itself around me like an ugly, over-sized coat. As I vacuumed the empty condo one last time, the tears and grief over leaving it overcame me with a vengeance. It was an inappropriate response to such a longed for, anticipated event. What was wrong with me?! It was then that I began to realize how change affects me.
On a smaller scale, I am in that place once again as I settle into my new bloggy space. It is unfamiliar and is taking me some time to get acquainted. I’ve painted the walls and laid down the carpet, but my stuff is still in boxes and I can’t find the scissors. Please bear with me as I find my way around over here.
I’m learning that Inspiration is a tiny, sparkly, fairy. She is delightful and lovely, but you have to catch her first. As it turns out, she is spooked by change. When I find her, you’ll be the first to know.
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