It is so hard for me to dwell in the present here. It’s a daily fight to take the time to enjoy life in this place. An hourly struggle to not think about either the future or the past. I never rooted firmly here and the result is that I’ve never felt like I can just be.
Right now, all I can think about is that in a few minutes the movers will be coming. In a few hours my belongings will be in wooden crates on a truck that will go to a ship and the next time I see them will be in ND. In a few days, B’s brother will be here oh so briefly, but we’ll get to see him. In a week, we’ll ship out our car and have to walk everywhere. In five weeks, we’ll be on a plane on our way home.
It’s a fight to not think about these things and to just be. To just dwell in the time that I am in. To cuddle in bed with B and not think about the future but just enjoy those moments of extra warmth.
The past also has a strangling grip on me. The years here are littered with dates of bad news. Deaths of people we knew here. Deaths of family and friends back home. Missed celebrations, hard days of work, hard days of marriage. There is something toxic about this place. I’m not sure what it is, but it seems to get a grip on just about everyone who lives here. And so it swirls around murkily, dimming the glow of the present with the weight of days past.
It’s not how I want to live any more. I’m okay with happy anticipation and fond remembrances; however, I don’t want to exist only in the past or future. I want to thrive in the moment that I’m living in.
Right now, this very moment, I’m sitting on our couch, for the last time for a few months. B is next to me, blissfully home from work thanks to the moving, chilling on our other laptop. Both of our dogs are on the floor at our feet, somewhat disgruntled that we’re still not letting them back up on the couch. The room is full of brown paper packages and white boxes, giving a strange and foreign feel to this place that has been our home for two years.
This is my moment. A moment of triumph for having survived. A moment of fatigue of fighting suitcases in and out of small spaces so clothes don’t accidentally get packed. A moment of frustration at having not remembered to keep a cute pair of shoes for when I don’t want to wear sneakers. A moment of joy that my family is together and ready for our next adventure.
What is happening in your present?