It’s a strange thing to wake up every morning and do ordinary things when life has become unmoored.
My husband has been living in another state for almost two months now. We saw him a week and a half ago and we’ll see him again very soon, but it’s still utterly strange. I’ve lived with him longer than anyone else in the world and it’s odd to be apart. (I miss him, even though it’s so easy to make the bed in the mornings without him untucking and flinging the covers everywhere while sleeping.)
The next time I put up a Christmas tree, it will be in a different house in a different state. I’m now marking time by packing away things we won’t need again until next time this year. Yet, this certainty is draped with uncertainty because we have no idea where exactly we’ll be living.
In the meantime, it’s like we’re still here but not really . . . and yet, we haven’t gone anywhere at all.
We are living in the space between our past and our future.
If you really think about it, though, we are all living in that in between space. We just don’t recognize it in the clutter and noise of daily life. So I suppose I should be grateful for this awareness.
As I drove down the rainy street today, I thought about how much I will miss the Douglas firs and the emerald green of our wet climate.
I’m trying to live in the moment. I really am. It’s just that I find the moment so fleeting and elusive.
And I hate not knowing exactly what my future looks like. I guess I’ll know soon enough.
For now, though, I am going to try to be here, heart and soul, in the moment.