Being at a crossroads is tough. You build up the inertia and get over the fear and throw yourself over an edge after careful deliberation and hope for the best. Usually, you hit the ground running and adjust to whatever this new twist in life throws at you. When it comes to moving, I find the momentum of packing up usually leads to a brief break followed by the inevitable unpacking. Much as I dislike the unpacking portion of moving (don’t we all?) it is necessary in order to start adapting to your new surroundings. It allows you to find your new space to be a little less intimidating because you see your favorite license plate turned into a purse that has followed you, move after move, for a decade displaying your favorite bracelets on a dresser (and by you, in this specific case, I clearly mean me. Roll with it). The little bits and baubles that remind you that you are indeed home.
But what happens when you can’t exactly do that immediately? I know I’ve stated how much I love my new place, and I do, but lately I’ve been feeling a bit like the coyote chasing the road runner. I ran full force after my goals of changing up my life only to sputter out in the air before looking down to find the ground isn’t there anymore. I haven’t landed in my new space yet and continue to exist on a cloud with my stuff displaced and in boxes around me. I don’t see the point of unpacking them, really, when I’m only going to pack them back up and unload them in the larger bedroom when the current occupant moves out at the end of the month. This in-between state has started seeping into my other goals as well. Etsy shop? Eh. My craft stuff is all packed up. Working on my manuscript? Eh. I live in a box kingdom with only a mattress to break it up. I’m in limbo.
At least there’s an awesome mashup of a silent film scene set to Radiohead to get me through it.