I write this as a packer is fitting my home into cardboard boxes. It seems so unreal. We are moving. It was only three and half weeks ago that Craig got a job offer that would take us to Philadelphia, so I'm still reeling from the surprise.
I spent five of my almost seven years here, in New Hampshire, wanting to leave. Craig had a job that would allow him to work from anywhere, and I desperately wanted that where to be the Pacific Northwest. I spent my daydreaming time imaging a miracle that would allow us to escape from the prison that is our underwater, upside-down home. It was the thing that was technically possible, but that I just couldn't seem to make happen. So I felt robbed and tortured by the idea of what could be.
Nine months ago I stopped feeling that way. I decided that we were in New England for the long haul. I stopped looking online at houses in Spokane and wishing I could be elsewhere. I figured I might as well make the best of where I was, so I set to it. And perhaps I finally decided to bloom where I was planted, as we so often hear we ought to do.
And now we're on our way to a new adventure. Craig's new job requires him to be in an office in downtown Philadelphia, so I don't anticipate the longing for what "could be". I'm looking forward to exploring a new part of the country and to making new friends. But, I'm surprised to find myself a little sad to be leaving our neighborhood, friends, and school.