Finding my way home
Part one: saying goodbye
I thought I’d tell you a little bit about how this Californian came to be living in England. And why thinking about home is not just about moving places and settling onto where you sleep at night. Home is also a result of the many choices we make as life throws different people and jobs and events your way, and we jump, duck, pivot or dance as best we can to incorporate them into our own rhythms. Home is that place we —hopefully—hold close in our hearts. If you are like me, many places may call to you during your life, and what do you do to make them feel like home?
For those of you who have said goodbye to your almost grownup children when they go off to University or it’s equivalent for the first time, you know the building dread that walks with you for the last few days and hours, stuck close like a thick t-shirt on a humid day. The dread ultimately ends with that horrible wrench when you hug for the last time, and walk away. The smack of that leaving is a sharp pain seared into our hearts. Not a gentle little tear, but a really shocking pain that takes a long time to grow the scar that is not a constant ache, but instead a gentle niggle of someone cherished.
When I said goodbye to my youngest as he excitedly walked away to rejoin his peers at his new University, and I walked towards the car with his dad (my ex) and started to sob, quietly, that was also the beginning of all the endings to come for me. I was myself moving from California to England in a couple of weeks, and this goodbye to my son was the first and the hardest of all to face.
His dad and I drove back up the long, incredibly dull 7 hours to Northern California the next day and I returned to the last throes of packing myself and packing up the house. I was subletting the house to some students at a local college, and someday I will tell you about THAT debacle. At this point, it just meant I had to get everything personal or valuable out of their way. If you’ve read any of my previous posts, particularly this one about Kipple y’all know I already had a storage unit. I had HISTORY with storage units, and trying to manage too much stuff.
Most things were getting packed up into the storage unit, or stuffed deep into a locking closet under the eaves. I intended to take two (very large) suitcases filled with the clothes I thought I might need for the next year. I had already packed up 6 plastic crates of important household belongings I couldn’t live without: a few books, some crockery, small art pieces and other important mementos that had been added months ago to Pete’s belongings shipped on ahead to England.
We had no idea how this next year would go for either of us: a new job back in academia for Pete (after a decade in consultancy work in the US), a year away from work for me to take an intensive masters degree at this same university. For both of us, we were moving to England after a decade for Pete and a lifetime for me in California; and then we were also going to live together too. Pretty much everything was new for us: the location, the jobs, the living situation. No stress whatsoever. What were we thinking???!!!
The thing was, from the moment Pete had mentioned the possibility of moving to England, I was all in. As long as we waited until my kids were out of High School and getting settled in their adult lives, I was really excited about the chance to live abroad. Ever since I had lived and worked in London when I was 20 I had wanted to return to live again. Although we wouldn’t be living in London, it was England, it was an adventure..it was TIME.
So was it stressful? Absolutely! But exciting? Oh heck yeah.
After leaving my son, I only remember snippets of my last two weeks at home before I flew away. There was a lot of overwhelm packing and finally my dear friends and my daughter came to help me as I suffered a series of debilitating migraines. (Hmm, stress reaction, you think?) Honestly, these friends were so kind and helpful: they swooped in to rescue me as I was completely overwhelmed by the volume of things that needed to be done.
From my journal at the time:
Writing from a Starbucks, waiting for my car to have it's oil changed, another in my long list of things to get done in the next two weeks before I leave. I can't work at home since I am having the interior painted now, to have a fresh coat covering the new sheetrock resulting from all the electrical and other repairs. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in I-don't-know-how long, and am feeling edgy and borderline cranky.
The house is completely upside down with piles of stuff sitting around to give away, or go into storage, or to deal with in one way or another. I spent the rest of the morning cleaning out the lockable closet in my son’s room where I can store things for this next year. His room feels bare and quiet. His spirit is still there, he is just not there with his stuff. Funny how that works. Parts of the house are clean and spare, and others are an almighty mess.
There was a day I went to my favourite beach with two of my longtime friends: we walked along the sand, dipping our feet in the cold northern California Pacific Ocean, squishing the soft warm grains of sand between our toes.
The day I arrived at a friend’s house to stay for a few days having left my home for what felt like it would be forever, I was shell-shocked, and slightly off-kilter. She scooped me and another friend into the car with her and her husband, and we drove to Wildcat Canyon in the Berkeley hills. The perspective of seeing miles of views towards the green mountains in the North Bay, sparkling blue San Francisco Bay, and the shimmering hot mustard East Bay Hills along with the rhythm of walking stilled my heart and calmed my panic. My feet were touching the earth again. We finished the day eating Mexican comfort food in a cosy restaurant, complete with too many tortilla chips and not too many margaritas.
I spent the next day trying to fit the last few items of clothing into my two suitcases, and wondering what I would end up wearing in my new life. Ridiculous to think that this was important, but faced with overwhelm, wardrobe planning was concrete and actionable. I would be a student to begin with: what do ‘mature’ students wear these days? What would the cooler and more humid temperatures feel like to this arid warm-weather-loving Californian? How much would the rain affect my clothing choices? I had no idea what I would be wearing. So obviously I packed as much as I could fit. And put the rest in the front of the now-bursting storage unit so I could get to it as soon as we came back next summer for a visit, or perhaps for good?
Before I left, there was a “Ta-ta for now” going away party that included many of my friends from over the years. Everyone played a game with questions about my life that they had to guess the answers. Two of my closest friends together with my daughter had had a great time planning all this in my absence. I was only a little bit jealous that I missed those fun sessions around the fire pit turning my life into a trivia game 🙂
The questions that were asked at the party were organised into categories. Maybe someday I’ll tell you the answers. 😄
I don’t remember much else until the day I was flying out. My daughter drove me to San Francisco airport. I was sad to say goodbye, as I always was, but she was going to be studying in London that year, and would be joining us in just a few weeks before starting her term.
Still, throughout these last two weeks I was not really worried at all; I believed that I was doing the right thing. And I had a lot of excited anticipation. After all, I had known this was going to happen since the beginning of this year, a full nine months. That’s how long it takes to hatch a new human! I also couldn’t wait to see Pete again, and start this new life and adventure together.
On the other hand, I also felt very light, not really tethered to the world. I was leaving behind everything I knew and was familiar with, and not knowing what the impact of this move would have on my kids, my very ageing mother, and of course myself.
I had left a job I had started 13 years before with treasured friendships, and I was going back to school after — lets just say —’quite a few’ years since I had last studied academically. I was moving to an entirely new country, and I was moving in to a new house with a man to live a new life. What was I thinking, indeed.
I sat at the airport texting last goodbyes to friends and family, and having a little overflow of tears at a lovely poem sent from my friend who helped me walk off my anxiety in the Berkeley hills. I found a petite ruby heart from my farewell party friend tucked into my bag. I fingered the necklace around my neck that was part of a matching set that one of my beach friends gave our gang of four to wear on birthdays and for safety on travel days.
I was actually doing this: the anticipation and waiting was about to turn into real life. Was I ready for the new life I was going to be living from now on?
Next week: Arriving, orientation and disorientation.
Now I’d love to hear from you!
Do you remember when you left home, changed cities or jobs, moved somewhere new, traveled by yourself?
Do you remember the anticipation, excitement? Did you dread the change or look forward to it?
Have you ever thought about something you didn’t do and wished you had? What held you back?
As always, so many thanks for reading! See you next time!
xx Sabrina
I'm struck dumb by how you've been able to tuck such exquisite literary military corners around the edges of this moving business! I've arrived as a character in one new life chapter after the next, more addresses and phone numbers under my belt than a drug dealer! Am so impressed with your mindful musings about finding your way home! ( I do believe it's situated in the heart, yes?)
Another wonderful, insightful, and moving piece. Thank you. You were so brave to go through all the big changes at once and come out so well on the other side. I'm sure that more difficult than the wardrobe was the uncertainty, worry, and maybe fear about being so far from you mother and children. That's what happened to me. When I told my mother, I was going to move to Spain, I was the one who cried. Not her. She took it like a kind and wise mother. Thankfully, she knew how to use FaceTime on her phone, the only thing she did know. That made a world of difference in our separation. There are many anxieties and uncertainties leaving but we can only tell ourselves, and truthfully, those will be balanced on the other side by new adventures, massive learning, curiosity, wonder, and excitement. Plus a new place for our children to visit and new memories to create with them.