The hardest part of leaving something, I believe, is the pulling away.
When we are in the mountains, on the land that we hope to live on, we are happy with everything. All decisions feel right. The road ahead seems clearly defined. Motives are good. Then, as we turn into the driveway of the house we love, doubt and anxiety return. How can we leave this nest we’ve woven and feathered? Neither of us travelers has lived anywhere as long a time as we’ve lived here, since childhood. Our personal life-energies are meshed into the walls.
The hard part is looking around at the home and garden we’ve built, and trying to imagine life without them. Trying to imagine someone else living here is strange. I talk with my clients at my wrought-iron table by the fragrant rose garden. Would new owners make as good use of the extraordinary beauty? Surely nobody could appreciate or care for things the way we have. From the vantage point of standing within our nest, leaving seems unimaginable, like cutting off an arm.
All it takes, though, is to drive away from the magnetic field around the place. As soon as we are beyond its pull, we can breathe freely again. Oh yes. A new home. That is clearly imaginable. A life with fewer anchors. That is what we are aiming for. Freedom to develop our new careers without worrying about how to pay the bills. Barring a sudden infusion of cash, this is the way to reach our goals. Oh yeah.
I feel stretched during this time of pulling away. The original idea had been to become free, not to get stuck in nostalgia. It will be a relief when someone buys the house. We can say a fond farewell to it, then walk away. I’m ready to get on with the next step of this journey.
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