It’s 5:41 am, the roads are surprisingly busy, and I am sitting in the living room of a place Jarrod and are calling home.
For the next year, at least. We’ve rented a place and are still setting it up, one week later. (I still have to create an updated inventory list for this place. It’s not a requirement, but it will cover our butts.) We’ve moved our stuff, with my brother’s help (another surprise, and it took two trips instead of one, surprise), we went to IKEA and bought furniture (and the delivery almost got stopped by security, and installation had to be cancelled [surprise!]), installed said furniture, with some parts needing a replacement (sur-okay yeah)…
And there were electrical trips, an electrician/air-con contractor visit, a professional mattress cleaning which turned into a whole-house cleaning (thank goodness we had them)…
Moving into a new place is just full of surprises, obstacles, adventures, delays, to-do lists… It’s a choose-your-own-perspective-here moment.
Tomorrow my realtor teammates are coming, not so much a visit as we need to figure out something for work. The house isn’t yet ready to receive visitors, with one side pretty clear and the other full of my bags (I haven’t really unpacked).
My mind got noisy, which I noticed before I slept. I should have heeded the call to write, but I chose to sleep instead. Hello middle-of-the-night-morning-typing.
But it’s okay. Even with all the surprises, the movements, the things to do, I’m sitting here in the living room of a place we can call home, eating snacks from past plane rides, just marvelling at the reality my life is currently.
We had so many worries — still have so many worries — and I’ve been so used to plans not happening that I haven’t really realised: I’m home.
This is home. As home as it can be, with all the worries and instability of our ability to live here longer-term.
It’s a place I’ve done laundry in. A place I’ve bought and built furniture for. Washed dishes in. I even bought candles.
I’m sitting in the living room of a place we can call ours.
And me waking up to type in the middle-morning-of-the-night (we need a word for this. Pre-dawn?) is so normal that I’m internally laughing.
I’m amused because life is an almost absurd mix of life-changing decisions and moments like these, of the little, day-to-day, as-if-nothing-really-changed moments.
yawn. good. i’m watered, fed, typing, and sleepy. and pee-d.
I’m looking at a house that’s influenced, customised, decorated by Jarrod’s Superman figurines and my fake flowers. I’m looking at white walls and new white furniture, learning that the things you take and the things you leave behind matter, because it makes space for something new, something that fits right with your new space and time and person, and the things you bring remind you of where you came from, what dreams you had, what you already fell in love with.
I’m looking out the window to unfamiliar streets and unfamiliar buildings, finding the lights that shine from headlamps and windows absolutely the same.
The world is different, and yet still the same world.
I’m still woken up by questions about my life.
“What am I doing? What am I choosing? How do I make money? Do I want to create things out of a desire to create? How do I turn this into money? Is what I make educational and/or entertaining? What makes me think that I can turn what I do for fun, for me, into a business that makes money?”
I hope I’m asking better questions.
6:12 am. Jarrod says by the time I get back into bed, it’ll be time to wake up. 🙂 He’s right, as usual.
The realtor part of me, while there was a flicker of life, is dying. (Ironic that I’m meeting my teammates tomorrow/today to talk about recruitment and getting people in, but also, I want to make sure people are coming in with eyes open, hearts ready, mind already prepped that it’s going to be a confusing journey.) For a while, I considered taking the classes I needed, and renewing my license. It’s a way to make money, and would keep us alive, perhaps, or at least open a new avenue.
Then the news came out about new rules for renewal — to have three transactions in a year, or take an exam — and I’m wondering if I should stay. It’s not the transactions or the exam so much as the intention behind it: realtors should only keep their license if they are in the business, and keeping updated with processes and policies. I have no wish to do either. No wish to reach out to keep on building that business. No wish to serve the clients I now have.
So why should I stay?
It’s very much like tutoring, which I also got into for reasons that were not mine. When the syllabus changed, I left. Not because I couldn’t figure it out, but I didn’t want to, and my heart was not in it for the kids any longer.
Which leaves me, now, with two things. Two things that I’ve done and created, hopefully for reasons of my own. (I’m checking with myself, as I type.) Witchy Therapy, if we go by chronological order of business created, and Writing to Connect.
There is, in my mind, significant overlap between the two. Both of them created to help, both of them connecting to communication (words and magic are the same thing, to me).
The difference? The angle of which I come in, represent myself. As much as people say “you should be you”, and “I am done making myself smaller so that I’m more digestable. Respectfully, you can choke.” there still is some sense that people need to be eased… I just want to be able to reach out and hel-touch as many people as I can, and there are those who will be helped by a very clear spiritual connection, and there are those who will be put off, afraid, by it, and would rather the wisdom without the clear connection to Divinity, or my sense of Divinity.
6:36 am, Jarrod came out for a cuddle. I woke him up and kept him awake staying out. The back of his T-shirt said “transformation is spiritual”… which came like a message. I am still the same person, I am still a channel, a medium though which I want spiritual wisdom to pass to the people who need it. I just don’t need to be having the same full conversation in every room I’m in. Some people need a drop, some people need a full jug of water. All of it, all of the transformation, is spiritual.
6:49 am, the sun’s coming up, and the sky is a lighter tint of night. That’s usually my cue to turn in.
Check: is there anything else I need? No. I had more cookies, and I’ve written here what I can write in public, the rest of it has to go on a paper journal, and kept private.
6:52 am. Brighter, brighter, and the roads are filling up. I hear doors closing, bikes and motors roaring, and notice the gentle reach of sunrise orange, an arm stretching out to separate the blues, the buildings turned into a blanket, the bed sheet made out of sky.
7:04 am and my mind is clear, and all I see out the window is grey with a splash of orange. I’m okay.
✒️✨🧭
