Have you ever been hit with a sudden, overwhelming sense of happiness? Can you pinpoint what person or event triggered the rush of endorphins? For me, it seems that it takes hitting a super rock-bottom low with ugly sobs followed by a few days of increasing positivity for me to really hit the natural high of so-happy-you’re-crying.
I’m there. And yes, I cry a lot. Whatever.
This all started about a week ago when I started packing up some boxes for Mr. Blue Eyes to take to our new house in Arizona. The idea of leaving this place, my home, was suddenly very very real. And it was heartbreaking. I sat on the floor and cried. And cried. And cried.
Now, I am not rejecting the idea of actually living with my spouse, that all sounds lovely. But I am in deep mourning for leaving this place; the city that sheltered me after a really terrible divorce, the neighborhood that has been a tangible comfort to me when I’m stressed, the friends who are my people, and the physical walls of an apartment where I became an adult. I am far more attached and invested in this little space of mine than I am in the house of my childhood. FAR more. Often times the idea of driving away from this oasis of happy and comfort leaves a physical ache in my heart.
Packing and labeling boxes, stacking them up and seeing that tangible tower of “you are leaving this place” sent me into a tailspin. A million thanks to my sweet friend D for stopping in to check on me (you know, after I didn’t answer phone calls or texts for a day and a half; see: tailspin). She invited me to go on a hike, and that was the beginning of my upswing.
Hiking a pretty low-key trail with two dear friends and their chattering 3-month old was so good for my soul. The sights and smells of my beloved mountains calmed and soothed my aching heart and watching the sun streak my sky in orange and magenta and gold felt like God was giving me gentle hair pats, telling me it would all be okay.
A day or two later, several hours spent with my oil paints and an audiobook brought me back to my happy place.
Sunday evening was spent with family, not my own siblings, but close enough. I have the same hands as my aunt, the same eyes as one cousin, the same feet as another, and my uncle called me by my childhood nickname the entire evening. There was no anxiety, no passive-aggressive comments, lots of laughing and giggling and jokes, and as much cookie dough as I wanted.
Mr. Blue Eyes will be here this weekend to remove the packed-up-boxes situation and I’m sure a few days snuggling him and laughing with him and just being together. I feel like so much of my life is in this extended period of uncomfortable limbo. Part of me wishes I could just quit my job and move next week, just rip off the band-aid. The other part of me is so grateful for these last few months of savoring my life and friends and experiences here, slowly saying goodbye. The truth is, both are hard, and I’m sure I will continue to have these emotional swings, both until and after I leave.
But, hopefully, I won’t have to pack up any more boxes until December when I actually move.