Monday, February 4, 2013
Change before you have to
In 10 days we'll be living in a new house.
Two and a half years ago, just before we left our previous flat, I felt the strange and irrational fear that we wouldn't be as happy somewhere else - as if after the final time we slammed the door at the top of those grubby communal stairs, wheeled the bikes out the door for the last time, bade farewell to the plaster lions on next door's gate posts and drove away down the tree and park-lined street, we would somehow leave behind the pleasure and minutiae of our daily lives, aspirations, arguments and laughter between those walls, that it was all a matter of chance, circumstance and location, easily shattered and transient.
Of course that was ridiculous fantasy as our current flat has seen some the most intense and best moments of my life. I laboured for 48 hours here, I played klezmer in the living room, had barbecues in the stony garden, saw my first born smile, laugh and walk for the very first time across the carpets, worked solidly for hours on my landing office, saw the sky turn and the seasons change again and again on the black roofed houses outside the windows where the giant pine has loomed over us, dripping cones right on schedule onto the neighbours unmowable lawn.
It's now time to leave again and trust that a new house and new town will give us what we need. There is nothing we can do but trust. I'm slightly apprehensive and drowning myself in slip jigs to prevent illogical thought.