On Moving and Boxes and Goals

A good friend of mine moved last weekend.  Across a couple of states.  For an entirely new life. 

I talked to her this morning, and she sounded really happy.  The genuine kind of happy that sounds strong and graceful at the same time.  The kind that comes at the new beginnings that follow tough decisions or draining circumstances. 

Oh, and the kind that erases a long haul to a new place.  You know the kind, right?  The kind that begins with  oh my god how did i ever accumulate this much stuff?  that leads into  do i reaaaally need all of this stuff?!  followed by  welp here's where i find out because there is NO WAY it is all going to fit!!  It usually ends with a solid cry, a stream of four letter words, and then some angel swoops in with a kind face and tells you to go wash the bathroom sink for a while, or check to make sure all the windows are still in place, or some other small unnecessary task that gives you an escape or at least a private place to have a mini-meltdown. (Not that I'm speaking from experience or anything.) It always works out fine.  Somehow it all ends up fitting and arrives at the new place in one piece and full of promise. 

Full of promise.  I loved hearing about my friend's new place and new neighborhood.  She's standing at that wonderful place at the very beginning where anything can happen and anything is possible.  She decided to follow her passion and her talent, and it led her across a few states to a place where she can almost reach out and hold onto her goals.  It's that tangible.  If she slips, she can reach out and grab onto her goals.  They'll hold onto her as tightly as she will hold on to them. 

She talked this morning of unpacking boxes, ants, cleaning, and closet space, but it was light, and airy.  Solve-able chitter-chatter dunked in excitement and anticipation.  Contagious excitement and anticipation.  thankgoodness. 

I cried a few days ago at the mere prospect of the emotional and physical stress that comes with packing my entire life into a small space and then taking a leap off a high cliff towards the much anticipated "next chapter".  I have moved so many times, called so many places home (mostly for lack a better word than a sincere feeling), chasing the same goal, that the prospect* of doing it again reduced me to fearful tears.  It's the same goal I'm chasing - I just didn't realize how many chapters I would have to page through before I reached the end of this chase.  Before I actually reached the goal. 

Listening to my friend on the first real day of her "next chapter" sparked something stronger than fear.  It sparked excitement and anticipation for that graceful and strong happiness.  Excitement and anticipation for beginnings full of promise.  These things come with moving, too.  I know this because I have done it so many times before.  I can do this again.  I want to do this again.

My goals are holding on to me tightly.  We are intertwined.  They hold me up when I'm tired, worn down, and stumbling.  Their arms are heavy this summer.  When I got off the phone with my friend, they heaved a large sigh of relief, set me down, and shook out the muscle tension.  We both knew I was ready to carry them for a while.  I can't say that I am feeling strong or graceful.  But I can say that I am one wobbly step closer to happiness. 

Thank you, Bee.

*a possibility, possibility, possibility.  tangible hope for a good fit.  for a next step.  send some good vibes into the universe for me? thanksiloveyou!