Creating home admist the impermence of moving
The mortgage is signed, the lawyer appointment set, the moving truck ordered, and the friends to help recruited. The house is in boxes (or a disaster), and we have begun to count our "lasts." This moving project feels like it has consumed my life the past 4 months. And now we are only days away.
Time to breathe deeply, to let my soul feel, to take stock and to move forward.
How do I balance grief and hope in this space? There are both in this move where we are trading in a yard we love for a fenced porch with a maple tree, a kitchen full of memories with one full of potential, a house that has been full of people for a space to build a home.
When I take moments to reflect, I am also stuck with a sense of impermanence. How long will we get to build this home? How much energy and love can we poor into this place knowing that it will disappear as well in a few years? I guess that when you are playing house with someone else's money, even when they are your parents, there is maybe a lack of permanency. But maybe that is just a reminder that nothing is permanent, even when it seems that way.
It's funny to be struck with a sense of impermanence now, as prior to living at The Fireside I had 7 addresses in 7 years (out of total of 12 in my lifetime) - this blog chronologues years when I lived in a different country every 4 months! But then marriage and grad school and community and puppy dog and someone I found myself in the same place for 3 years - and somehow defining the last 4 months of those in a stage of ending. Sometimes I miss living out of a few boxes; recreating home every few months and living into each of those space and moments with so much intensity.
There must be something to say about these longer periods of impermanence, about the 3 year periods as opposed to the 3 month ones. About taking longer to settle in, to build a home, and to say goodbye. But at the moment it feels more exhausting to build a home and then dismantle it after a few years than to unpack a few boxes of clothes and memorabilia and call it home more frequently. There are of course the added dynamics this time around of being in a couple with a dependent puppy, the responsibility of actually selling/buying a home, of moving my parents stored belongings, etc.
As we approach this move, I want to live into the sentiment of being the Smootenns from Underhill, to build our hobbit hole home in that space, to create a welcoming, nerdy, comfortable space in this new place. But to hold it loosely, recognizing that it is impermanent, but no less home for being so. I want to recall the Bekah who built her home every few months and still lived with presence and integrity in each of those spaces.
Time to breathe deeply, to let my soul feel, to take stock and to move forward.
How do I balance grief and hope in this space? There are both in this move where we are trading in a yard we love for a fenced porch with a maple tree, a kitchen full of memories with one full of potential, a house that has been full of people for a space to build a home.
When I take moments to reflect, I am also stuck with a sense of impermanence. How long will we get to build this home? How much energy and love can we poor into this place knowing that it will disappear as well in a few years? I guess that when you are playing house with someone else's money, even when they are your parents, there is maybe a lack of permanency. But maybe that is just a reminder that nothing is permanent, even when it seems that way.
It's funny to be struck with a sense of impermanence now, as prior to living at The Fireside I had 7 addresses in 7 years (out of total of 12 in my lifetime) - this blog chronologues years when I lived in a different country every 4 months! But then marriage and grad school and community and puppy dog and someone I found myself in the same place for 3 years - and somehow defining the last 4 months of those in a stage of ending. Sometimes I miss living out of a few boxes; recreating home every few months and living into each of those space and moments with so much intensity.
There must be something to say about these longer periods of impermanence, about the 3 year periods as opposed to the 3 month ones. About taking longer to settle in, to build a home, and to say goodbye. But at the moment it feels more exhausting to build a home and then dismantle it after a few years than to unpack a few boxes of clothes and memorabilia and call it home more frequently. There are of course the added dynamics this time around of being in a couple with a dependent puppy, the responsibility of actually selling/buying a home, of moving my parents stored belongings, etc.
As we approach this move, I want to live into the sentiment of being the Smootenns from Underhill, to build our hobbit hole home in that space, to create a welcoming, nerdy, comfortable space in this new place. But to hold it loosely, recognizing that it is impermanent, but no less home for being so. I want to recall the Bekah who built her home every few months and still lived with presence and integrity in each of those spaces.
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