Three more days, I keep telling myself. We are in the thick of moving hell. I’m a giant ball of anxiety and have had a number of small panic attacks. But things are coming together. I spent all last night deep cleaning our new bathroom and it looks and smells amazing. I used a number of recipes from this zine, using mostly lavender and tea tree oils. At first I felt stressed and overwhelmed, but eventually I let myself enjoy the nesting process. Mixing my own cleaners in the sink. Washing and ringing out rags. Sponging down the walls, scrubbing the tub, and mopping the floors. When I finished it felt like a work of art. Non-toxic, old fashioned clean. One room down, three to go. The kitchen is next.
Uprooting is difficult. I always become regretful, and lament how much easier it would have been to just stay put. Due to some of my compulsive issues, I haven’t been able to sleep, eat, or drink much this week. I miss real food, but all my body wants is plain, bready carbs and junk food. Which in turn makes me feel even worse. I know this will pass – it always does – and before I know it our new home will be buzzing with our energy.
All this mess is a reminder that the good life takes hard work. Even in the thick of moving hell, I’m finding moments that remind me why we did this. This morning I walked to work, a balmy 60 degrees after a night of rain. The town was quiet, and the air clear. The birds were so loud and all the old, colorful mill houses had daffodils sprouting in their yards. I sipped my coffee and strolled leisurely, filled with peace. Felt about ten thousand times better than commuting to work in a car, frustrating by traffic and droning along with the morning news. My head’s such a nightmare, I had to say our loud, “this is what living feels like.” So I could relish in the moment, so I could remember that stress is only temporary.