As the drum beat gets louder (or is it my heart?), pulling me closer to my new world, everything suddenly feels topsy-turvy. My perspective is beginning to change and everything I look at in this world seems different.
With my new eyes, I begin to wonder: what will these same eyes see when I look a month or so from now? When I rise from my bed in the morning and throw open my shades, what will be the landscape outside my window?? Will it feel alien, or will I quickly adapt to my surroundings?
When I was young I was able to unpack boxes in a day and make a nest almost immediately. I’m not so sure this will be the case now in my second half years. Moving forward now, there is a slight sense of dread lurking behind the sense of adventure. Having been a home owner for the last 30 years or so, can I manage living in a tiny apartment surrounded by other potentially noisy tenants? How much will I miss my gardens, my privacy and my sweet home? Will I find a job I love? Can I find friends?
I won’t lie: I’m scared. I’ve always lived on the east coast. This change is huge and I’m doing it alone. Even the drive with my pets is very intimidating to me. It really surprises me that the young woman who took crazy challenges on now seems daunted by something like this, but life’s battles has left me scarred and wounded. I don’t have the stamina and energy I once did for the unknown.
And true, I’ve learned to find much comfort in the everyday routine and the predictable. That black tunnel I’m facing is leaving my pulse beating just a bit too fast and my sleep patterns haphazard.
As each question finds an answer, things will calm down I’m sure (as long as the answers are satisfying and comfortable). But while I’m still in limbo, purgatory–the grayish fog of inbetween, I will continue to feel unsettled and yes, like maybe this wasn’t a great idea.