We're moving to Austin TX in two weeks. I've been packing away clothes, jewellery, photos and memories once more into boxes with labels, some that say 'fragile, handle with care' and find myself relating. I wish I could say moving gets easier the more you do it but I wouldn't mean it. For me it's getting harder each time. Harder to transition jobs, make friends, find a bloody hairdresser that's worth a damn.
It's harder because the more I move, the more of my heart I seem to leave behind at every place we vacate. Like they're a part of me but also something I'm living without. It becomes harder to open up to people when you're feeling the acute absence of the others you love and left behind. After a while, a sort of apathetic wall shields you from getting too close because you dread the goodbye and although you aren't always consciously aware of it: your heart is.
As I look around at these walls and remember slumber parties, drunken escapades, cooking for and entertaining friends, I realize that I drew distance months ago from anyone that I dreaded saying goodbye to. Once the inevitability of our move became apparent, I retreated deep into my shell and refuse to come out for anything. I did the same thing when we left Central Queensland, Scarborough Beach, Brisbane, home. Pieces of my soul are encased in each of these places and within key people whom I unconditionally love. I've never gotten the hang of taking my old life or friends along with me to my new experiences and this has gradually built into an immense feeling of loss.
Now with two puppies, it's like having kids! I'm leaving a city where Baxter wore his first Halloween costume, where Dorothy was weened; where they both had their first vaccinations, tummy bugs, walks and park plays. Saying goodbye to the sidewalks and parks they adore complete with tried and tested squirrel homes and best doggy pals. Not to mention the best baby sitters and dog-dream-vacation-providers around. None of that is replaceable. All of it will be missed.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
The urge to write
I'm horrible at this blogging business, I know. I'm the same at keeping a journal -very inconsistent with my entries and not regimented at all. I've always wanted to be more organized and I tried to give this blogspot a specific genre (travel) but I could never actually get organized enough while on the road to upload photos or travel maps and reviews/ bleh!
Then I told myself that having a blog is like keeping a journal but I couldn't believe it because of the people-reading-it thing and the expectations that places on me to remain prompt with posts, have engaging content etc. While I've always wished I could be more organized, I'm afraid the truth is that I will always be spontaneous and emotional. It's the same problem that people who rely on me to stay in touch have ... I only write when I have an urge. And today, after more than a year, I felt an urge to blog something.
I've had enough of opening this blogspot and thinking 'I have nothing engaging to say' or 'maybe if I say this it'll require a back story?' I'm just going to write. Something I should have done from the beginning and stay true to myself.
Then I told myself that having a blog is like keeping a journal but I couldn't believe it because of the people-reading-it thing and the expectations that places on me to remain prompt with posts, have engaging content etc. While I've always wished I could be more organized, I'm afraid the truth is that I will always be spontaneous and emotional. It's the same problem that people who rely on me to stay in touch have ... I only write when I have an urge. And today, after more than a year, I felt an urge to blog something.
I've had enough of opening this blogspot and thinking 'I have nothing engaging to say' or 'maybe if I say this it'll require a back story?' I'm just going to write. Something I should have done from the beginning and stay true to myself.
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