Many of you know that feeling when you are so determined you won’t cry, you talk yourself into being strong, and then you have that question accompanied by sensitive caring eyes, “how does that make you feel?” and all resistance crumbles and your face melts into a soggy mass of mascara and blotchiness.
I know that moving home is traumatic. It is the very industry I have been involved in most of my working life. The triggers for most moves are divorce, death, departure and debt, so the incidence where moving is for fun are extremely rare. Even in the most exciting of circumstances there is always a period of settling required. I know all this, but you see I have always somehow coped and carried on like nothing has changed. I have always been unflappable because I didn’t want my family feeling insecure. The challenge this time, is that I seem to be totally unhinged. I can usually move on without looking back, I embrace change with steely determination, but this time I am almost paralysed with a tiredness that doesn’t seem to want to abate.
The move has given me back the sea that I love so much, the sound of seagulls in the morning, the background noise of children in the park, the smell of coffee from Bob’s Bagels, I am reminded of my children growing up in Pennington when I see young mum’s push their prams and meet others in the park for tea and picnics. It is all pretty perfect, but I keep wondering when I’m going to be finished with the holiday and go home. When you google the word home, it comes up as, “the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.” I lit my candles last night and gave thanks for my week and for the support of my precious little family and friends.
As I sit writing this story, I note with satisfaction, that home is starting to take shape. Most things have found a place. My dogs are still unsettled, but I have discovered that they love the beach as much as their mother, so this will become their new play park instead of the forest. They too will adapt.
My guru has allowed me to now run 5km every second day, and I can do it along the beach path to Muizenburg Surfers corner and back. The thrill of the sound of my footsteps, the sea as my companion and memories of running this path a year ago with my favourite running partner gives me hope, there is light at the end of this tunnel. I will find my rhythm and the person I was will be back, maybe a better, calmer model. Oi vey, lets hope!
One thought on “Light At The End Of The Tunnel”
😢but so happy to have you so close to me👩❤️💋👩
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