Drawing close and letting go

Drawing close and letting go

We’ve been in our new house in Port Blandford for a week now, long enough to create some order out of the chaos. If you’ve moved recently, you’ll remember how disorienting it is to live your life in a new space. At first, I disliked my new kitchen, but of course, that was because I was comparing it to the old one. As I become accustomed to the flow and features of the new kitchen, I am less antagonistic towards it, more open to what it has to offer.

Moving is a constant process of deciding what to draw close and what to let go. In a very tangible way, you go through this when you decide what to pack and what to get rid of. It’s an inelegant process, full of compromises and petty capitalism. But eventually, you pare your belongings down to what you think is the minimum you will need in your new house in order to function comfortably and to feel at home. You put it all in boxes, and entrust it to strangers who claim to be experts in moving your belongings, intact and on time. And then you forget about it, until it all arrives in your new home, ready to dominate your thoughts once again.

You draw your friends close, even though moving means that you will be much further away. You desperately hope that you can keep them close.

Soon, the future that you dreamed about becomes the present, and you have to decide which aspects of your way of living to hold on to, and which ones to let go of. I didn’t move to Newfoundland so I could live the same life I lived in Hamilton, only without any friends close by. I came here to experience new things, new people, and a new way of life. I came here to be changed, hopefully for the better. So what parts of my way of living should I continue to nurture, and what parts need to change?

I bought my first-ever pair of rubber boots a couple of days ago. I never needed rubber boots before because I didn’t garden and I didn’t muck around in water. But now I live alongside the ocean, on a shallow bay with mudflats exposed during low tide. My husband loves to garden, and I know it’s a great way to build an affinity with your immediate surroundings. The boots are stylish and comfortable, and they were on sale. Let’s hope I get lots of use out of them!

5 Comments

  1. That picture brings back some unpleasant memories! One of the best gifts we were given was a friend who flattened all the packing paper, and took them to the recycling as they left. I loved them.
    I love your philosophy, Jennifer! It will be fun to see how Newfoundland changes you.

    Pat Dickinson
  2. I relate to your blog, having moved many times (too many!). Yet I can see by your picture that you are wearing it very well. You look terrific. And you confirmed it isn’t just on the inside when you shared with us a bit of your story after church on ZOOM. (Very nice boots!!)

    Doreen Knol
  3. Love the boots Jennifer, and the scenery – amazing sky and water! Nothing like turning your life on its head to make room for an even larger view. Sending you and Les lots of love.

    Peggy Faulds
  4. This post spoke to me so loudly as I am two days away from moving, not of course to another time zone but to a one way street that goes the other way. Good thing I don’t have a car!! Thank you for sharing your wisdom and heart!

    Laurie Sodomlak

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