Starting to move on
There’s a moment, I think, that comes with every big change we make in our lives. It comes after the buildup and (hopefully) excitement, and after the instant nostalgia where we want to soak up every last thing before we go. It’s that moment when we start to move on.
My moment came earlier than I expected, because it usually comes when I start packing. In times past, I’ve enjoyed my present one last time before changing into moving clothes, getting out a box, taking a deep breath, and packing it.
From that moment, I’m no longer of the place I’m leaving. I’ve moved into that betwixt and between place, where I’ll stay until I what’s next becomes what’s now.
This time, perhaps because it was drawn out longer than usual, or just perhaps because current events interrupted my nostalgia, or maybe even because work was really hard last week, and it will not be this week, I started to move on, stepping into the liminal.
On a walk with a friend yesterday about the neighborhood, I talked about what I will miss about this place, slipping tenses as I talked, as though part of me spoke from the future and part of me from now, and maybe even part of me who so long ago dreamed of living here one day.
My time here fades into mist, and I step toward what comes next. For now, I am betwixt and between. I have started to move on.
Gallery: Sundry Wonders
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