My lease is coming up next month. I love where I live. At the same time, a part of me feels it’s time for variation. I think moving might be the change I need.
I need a sense of forward movement after my divorce.
But there’s a problem that most of us experience with moving. Before I get to that, let me explain why it’s unusual for me to even want to move.
I’ve been craving change.
It’s an odd hankering for a girl like me.
I usually tell people I don’t like change.
I’ve always been kind of boring that way. I love the comfort of the familiar. It’s not rocket science. I’m pretty sure it’s rooted (pun intended) in my past. My dad left when I was 5 years old.
It was a different generation.
One that didn’t think a small child could understand adult issues.
It was never talked about.
I woke up one day and he was gone. The man who called me ‘Colleenie the Beanie,’ held my hand, sang to me, laughed with me, and loved me. He just disappeared.
He may have been flawed but a little girl couldn’t see that.
Not at that young age.
I know my mom thought she was doing the right thing.
I was so little she thought she would just move us forward. She couldn’t control the choices my father made. She couldn’t get the drinker to stop drinking.
My dad didn’t simply separate from my mother.
He disappeared for months, and years at a time.
I’ve never felt sorry for myself. My mother loved us enough for two parents. I’ve had more blessings than most people. I love the way I grew up.
I didn’t grow up perfectly but I grew up beautifully.
I was surrounded by love.
I’m pro-divorce.
It’s better than children watching a poor example of love.
I point that out because the next thing I’m about to say is painful. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me because I don’t feel sorry for myself. It’s simply an aspect of my life. It was meant to be my journey.
I have vivid memories of the time following my dad’s departure.
At night, I would get out of my bed, and walk into my mom’s room. I was so little that I remember it was a struggle to climb up, and onto her bed so I could lay beside her.
“You’re not going to leave me too, are you?” I would say.
“No,” she would say. “I would never leave you.”
It was a fair question from a child who didn’t understand why one parent had suddenly disappeared. And no one had explained to her why, or where he had gone.
I know this is the moment change became unpleasant for me.
Change did not represent something good in my life.
Change was bad.
In the years following, I would scribble little notes to my mother. It could’ve been the budding writer in me, or that my mom scattered notes. It wasn’t unusual for her to leave cute little messages in our lunch, or on the kitchen counter.
“I will be with you forever,” I would write.
It became our thing.
Again, not rocket science.
I’m certain it’s rooted in that 5 year old little girl. You’re not leaving me, and I’m never leaving you. And when I was old enough, I put it in writing just to be sure.
That’s my relationship with change.
Yet now I am craving it.
It began with my rent increase.
These are the highest increases I’ve seen since I’ve been in my building. I’ve lived here for nearly five years. This is the first time people are leaving in volume because of the increases.
Once I pondered moving, I thought maybe I needed to move on.
Post-divorce has been slow motion for me.
I feel as if I should be further along financially. I feel like more should’ve happened by now to rebuild my life. Every day I make strides. It just doesn’t seem like enough.
Sometimes I attribute it to the duration of my divorce.
Other times, I think I’m getting in my own way.
The stress, and distraction hinder me. I still don’t sleep well most nights. The combination of these things impacts my concentration. I used to accomplish in a day, what it sometimes takes a week to do.
I want progress.
A move could mean new people, and new opportunities.
And then I remind myself of what my friend used to say, “The problem with moving is you take yourself with you.”
I had yet to hear that expression.
She initially said it when she was thinking of moving herself. She had tired of some of the problems in her life. She wanted to escape. She wanted change. I totally understood.
She knew that moving itself wasn’t a solution.
Her problems were going to follow her.
She wasn’t wrong.
Moving can be a great thing for many people. Especially, those I formerly didn’t understand. The others who actually love change. The people who find it exciting, and invigorating.
And of course, those who are unencumbered.
Individuals who are content, and happy with where they are in life.
To be fair, a move might help some who feel the need to escape. There may be those who are reinvigorated for the long haul, and not the short-term high.
I’m not sure if that’s me, or not.
I haven’t decided.
Moving might be the change I need. But “The problem with moving is you take yourself with you.” Moving isn’t a solution to our problems. Our issues travel with us. A change of venue doesn’t necessarily mean a change of self.
Or circumstances.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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