Moving

Last weekend Ken and I moved from a 3600 square foot house into a 600 square foot duplex apartment where we are serenaded everyday by heavy footsteps, loud telephone conversations, and a yap-yap dog echoing through the walls next door. We sold our house in order to build our dream home but discovered yesterday that the plan had been axed due to powers beyond our control (historical commissions, boards, and bullshit like that). So here we sit, uprooted and unsure of our next steps.

Over the course of the weeks leading up to the move and the move itself: I stopped sleeping, I got the flu, my lips were perpetually chapped and bleeding no matter how much water I drank, my back ached, my neck seized, and the creeping impulse to eat for comfort ebbed and flowed. Moving is uncomfortable... moving from one home to another, one job to another, moving on after a death or disappointment, moving at the gym, or moving to consider an unwelcome thought. Uncomfortable. Tiring and sometimes painful, but also absolutely challenging and invigorating.

Moving keeps us healthy. Obviously, moving in the form of exercise is good. Less obvious... moving on, moving away, moving towards, reaching out, expanding, stretching, trying something new. All good things, keeping us agile and alive.

Now that the initial move is over and the initial dream is squashed, I have the opportunity to create a life and find a home I haven't even imagined yet. I may be sitting in a duplex in East Nashville at 1 a.m., totally unsure of how the hell I got here or what the hell to do next. But I remain, always and forever, a fan of moving.