The Next Move

I think I've had at least six big moves in my life... when I was small, moving from an apartment into a house in a rural area outside of Cornwall... five years later to Ottawa, which lasted only a year, then to Kingston, where I lived with my mother and sister for the entirety of my highschool days. Then it was off to University, just me all by my lonesome (well, sort of - a friend of my from highschool came to the same Uni and my sister transfered here as well, so I wasn't as adrift as I maybe would have liked to be). From Residence, I moved into a house - two years (and one summertime experience living by myself) I moved into a house with a friend, who ceased to be a friend after a shorter period of time than I would have liked.

At the end of my two-year stay in that house (one in Uni, one out), I had a chance to move in with my year-long partner. And I said no. My mother, who conveniently got a job teaching at the University in my town, moved at the beginning of the summer and I ended up storing all my stuff at her place - my beloved computer and all - while I tried to sort out what to do next. All the while I've been at my partner's apartment, spending no more than five nights in the four months at my mom's.

I've lived a sort of half-life in the last four months; a homeless existence. Now it comes that my mother bought a house (as some in Farore will be all too aware), without a room for me. Which is fine, really, because I just turned 24 and I don't know if I want a room in my mother's house any more. But I'm literally in the middle of packing (poems and stories on loose sheets flutter around me like fallen leaves every time I turn), and am about to move in with my partner, whose offer has stood firm since it was first posed.

I realize that I've spent half my life in boxes (another quarter in standing lines), and it's... weird. Like I never get too comfortable anywhere, because I know it's temporary. I know, even if all those around me say it's a sure thing. At once I am free and trapped - trapped by boxes, like bits and pieces of who I am are always destined for storage, probably somewhere damp and forgettable. And maybe that's the way it should be - maybe what I'm packing is just those things I haven't got the courage to throw out - those things that cling to me like the ghosts of my past lives, always waiting in boxes to spring out and shock me with images of who I once was.

Moving out is not necessarily the same as moving on.

It's a strange time, one of decision. Though I'm not in school any more, I feel that Autumn is the beginning of a season of growth, rather than the logical end. I don't feel the world is dying, I feel it's blooming in reverse. Maybe this has something to do with me being an August baby - and a late-bloomer to boot.

I'm happy with my choice, because it's just that - a choice. No more of the summer half-life. Out of boxes, out of garbage bags, I am born anew.

We'll see how it goes. Then again, we always do, don't we?

Use this thread to talk about your 'moves', be they physical or spiritual, or about the next stage in your life - be it school, work, love... anything.

I recently just escaped that turmoil.
*YAY!! im so happy!!^_^*
We were about to move away, but my parents decided to wait until I was on my own, and put a bit more $$ into the house.....now how cool is that?!?!
I guess Ive had other tpes of "moves" but theyre all personal...so.uh....yeah. Ill keep those to myself.

On one hand autumn is the decline from nature's prime, to its inevitbale end in winter. But its always a cycle.... from life to death, and back to life again.

On the other hand autumn is beauty and grace in age. Maturing. Living in the northeast I know that the trees can look stunning as you glance down the street as it is crowned in a golden canophy. They arent dying, just waiting to spring into new life with nature's grace.

I wish you luck pipking. May your fingers be unmarred by construction accidents.

Too late, of course.

Does anyone else think of Fall as a time of beginnings?