Not Every Day Will Be Like This
Yesterday was a massive day. I didn’t realise it at the time, but today I can feel the impact.
We sent our stuff for shipping. Our house is practically empty now. We have 3 beds, 1 sofa, and a table left to go into storage. And we have some toys, 2 mugs, a few plates and our clothes to take on the plane.
With all of that stuff sent off onto the boat it feels like something seismic has just shifted. It reminds me of the massive area of ice I watched cleave from Greenland on the internet. An area the size of Manhattan broke away in an earth shatteringly permanent and spectacularly destructive way. The size and scale of it was impossible to comprehend. Mountains of ice shot into the air and pieces the size of skyscrapers plunged into the sea.
Maybe what I’ve just done to our life has a similarly seismic scale. We are small, insignificant specks in comparison to that ice. However, from the top of my little iceberg, as I float out to sea and look back at what is left in our life, I can see that there is permanent change behind me.
It’s too early to tell if this change is genuinely a good one. But since it’s too late to do anything about it anyway, I’ve decided to believe in the journey and trust that it will all be ok in the end. I will free my heart from negativity, free my mind from worries, live more simply, give myself to others more generously and expect little in return.
That’s my aim anyway. But yesterday also reminded me how hard that journey will be. For 3 hours, at the end of the day, the waves of life tried hard to break my will. Having said goodbye to the lorry full of stuff, I took the girls for their injections. Once I had a hint of consent we jabbed them (last time it was too close to a forced medical procedure for my comfort). My youngest wet herself in the doctors to remind me that toilet training her right now is an insane idea. And then the washing machine leaked, for the first time ever, to make sure I wasn’t around when she wet herself a second time on the kitchen table.
I’ve noticed that our children react to the changes we impose on them in subtle, sensitive ways. Last night it was the hour-long extension of bedtime and consecutive bad dreams at 2am that demonstrated they weren’t comfortable in our strange empty house. It took every drop of patience I had not to crack apart and shout “go to sleep” at them.
Like the boulders of ice that went crashing into the sea at the fastest rate in the earth’s history, that continuous stream of challenges yesterday was sent to test me. It was there to show me that some days will be hard; sometimes in very big and sometimes in very tiny ways. It’s how I respond to those events that matters most.
Today I feel happy to have survived, and I’m back bobbing along on my iceberg waiting for the next wave to appear.