Saturday, April 14, 2012

some other beginning's end

I've been packing and shopping and planning and laughing with STG about our move in 2 weeks. We're creating quite the love nest for our selves, and we're both so very excited. And yet, I have a certain sadness I've been denying. And this morning I dug around a little and put my finger on it: as Semisonic so articulately sang at the end of every bar night for the past 15 years, "every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

I do know who I want to take me home, and that I want my home with him. I also know there's something I'm giving up, as is he, in having that happen. I keep joking that we'll see who gets to alphabetize the spice cabinet, but there is something to be said for independence. That's the obvious issue.

There's more though ... there are things I thought would happen here in my little apartment-for-one that haven't happened. I'm okay with letting them go to move on to the life that's waiting for me, but I think it's also okay to say goodbye and bid them adieu while I'm still here. 

What really feels like giving up rather than letting go is that when I moved here, the impetus for moving here, was that my BBs were not thriving living at home anymore, and I thought it was time to nudge them from the nest so they could learn to fly on their own. They didn't. They haven't. And now I am - I am about to move into something close to my simplest of dream houses with a man who makes my future look very different than it did when I moved here. And my BBs continue to struggle. Part of me feels like I'm abandoning them even though they don't live in the home I'm leaving. They will still be welcome. They will still know how to reach me. But ... it will be different.

I also haven't taken care of myself the way I said I would when I moved in 23 months ago. I did at first - walking to work, practicing yoga, living life in such a way that I didn't need sugar to fill me up. Soon enough I'd lost 40 pounds without even thinking about it. And then all hell broke lose. And I couldn't move off the couch. And my primary medication was sugar again. I regained 30 pounds. It's just a barometer, that damn scale, of whether or not I'm taking care of myself in other ways. I'm not. And I still can, even when I share all my meals with someone with different food needs. I can, but right now I'm not. 

But maybe that's just an excuse. Maybe all I'm really worried about is having someone I'm accountable to, and someone whose interests and cares and opinions and feelings I have to pay attention to. That's never been a huge strength for me, but I'm willing to give it a try. 

I'm excited to be moving in with STG. To be creating a new size and shape of family that includes our off-spring who will all come and go from our home. We will plant gardens, grow roots, explore the world, fight over things that don't matter, and cling to the love that does. 

And I'm okay with saying good by to the life that I planned that never was. Mostly because the life that is waiting for me is so full of sunshine and love and bursting with goodness I never even imagined. 


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