With Charles’ new job comes a daily commute, which in turn brings thoughts of moving to a new neighbourhood. Maybe closer to his job. Maybe with more room and a yard and place for a cat. Maybe.
The other option is to stay where we are and I could get an office up the street. I actually thought this was what we had decided –I’ve even found a place and have told the landlord I’d give him an answer today.
The thing is that Charles had a look for houses in Balmain over the weekend –just to see what he could find. Go ahead, I said, knowing that he wouldn’t find anything. I had looked the week before and was unimpressed with the options.
He came home Saturday afternoon all excited about not one but two amazing houses. One with incredible views of the city and the other with a little separate studio with 360 degrees of windows. ‘For writing,’ he said, a natural salesman.
We checked them out on Sunday and I had the strangest reaction. Instead of getting excited about moving like I usually do, I felt like going home and sticking my head under a pillow. I tried to imagine myself there, the layout of our furniture, Charles cooking in the kitchen… But my mind kept going to the negatives: the traffic on that side of town, the isolation of the quieter neighbourhood, the lack of a good local café.
I used to be able to imagine myself in new places so easily. I realize now how powerful that visioning is. “My life will be so much better when I’m there. I’ll get up early everyday, I’ll write in that little corner, and friends will come over and we’ll sit outside at that little table and drink tea.”
Now I know how much energy it takes to create a new routine. And moving means creating them all over again. It’s like you build up habits in a place that make it all flow easier. After a few months in my old office space, I was able to walk in and immediately be in a very productive mode. And I know how long it takes to make myself a local in the café -to be seen enough so that people know you and smile genuinely rather than in that ‘can I help you?’ way.
So there I was being a big party poo about moving. As Charles excitedly pointed out the features (“Look, a tub! A gas stove!”), I was sullen grumble butt. Me! Me, the one who moves at the drop of a hat.
Had I lost the romance? Was I so ‘realistic’ that I’d lost my enthusiasm? This was not who I wanted to be. So I spent the rest of the day visualising. First I had to picture leaving our park and Hernandez, then I pictured myself in the little studio each day. I painted the new kitchen a brighter colour and a strung fairly lights up the stairs in the back yard and I picked out a cat at the local animal shelter. I think I may have even learned to cook.
It took me so much longer than it ever has, but by Monday morning I was excited. I was ready to move. I was back!
Unfortunately, now the real estate agent won’t return our calls.