The Big Move

I feel tired. All of the time. I feel like I am hunting for something, and it is dark and silly me I forgot to pack any hunting gear. I feel not really afraid but a mix of fear, anticipation, and a breath held for far too long. I feel tired.

We are moving. In less than two months, we will pack our entire life up into a truck and drive across the country to someplace we have deemed safer. We can’t deem it safe, but safer is available. All of this change, of this newness, is surrounding me, drowning me. It hurts. It hurts like a stomachache or brain freeze. The pain is hidden away, so people can only ask what is wrong but not see the bandages. So people will think everything is fine.

I’m scared. But not for any reason I expected. I’m scared because I’m not scared for the reasons I expected. I thought I’d be sad to say goodbye, but my life has been a series of goodbyes. I thought I’d be worried about a new town, but I long for something new to discover and the small safety that will bring. I’m not scared of leaving friends, leaving family, going far from what I know, and that scares me. To make it worse, I’m also not sad.

I’ve been sad for so long that it is more or less my default most days, but when I imagine packing our life away in that truck, I am happy. When I picture feet upon feet of snow and thick coats dusted with cold, I am happy. The move worries everyone but me.

I find myself transitioning the worry I should have worry about others. It feels easier that way. I can say I’m worried or sad for my kiddo to leave behind her friends and family. I can be upset or distraught for my partner saying goodbye to his friends. And when they ask me, I say I’m fine. I say don’t worry. I’ve moved a lot. I have wanted this for so long, I say. And I have. It’s true.

I’m not sad or scared. I’m like a hollow pot devoid of water but embracing the potential that lies within the emptiness. I feel ready. So I might seem gone on here for a little but don’t worry. I’m fine.