Here is the nature of our limbo. My husband and I have an a-rational desire to relocate to his family farm and live an allegedly simpler life. It's an undeniable call that we've spent years now dreaming about. So far, we have sold our house by near-miraculous means and come to the nervous conclusion that we must move in with his parents while we figure out how to actually live on the land we covet. I told you it was irrational: there is no water, power, septic, barn, or house on our promised land. There is only a fabulous view and beautiful quiet.
The sale of our current cottage is one of the reasons we feel now is the time to go. We all know how the housing market has been. It is not normal right now to find buyers inside of two weeks who don't even feel the need to negotiate the price and are willing to fix up the neglected garage at their own cost just to satisfy FHA. (The house was priced with the garage as is. Neither we nor the buyers cared, but FHA did.) The whole deal is way too coincidental. We believe in signs, so we go.
Here's what I forgot about departing to start anew: We have to move all our stuff! I've been through this kind of heavy realization before. When I was 26 I literally woke up one morning and knew I was ready to have a baby (Remember how life veers?). Only after I was good and pregnant did I realize how sick I was going to be and how terrified I was of labor and delivery. One wants the baby or the new life, but the gateway process is exhausting. I'm forcing myself to pack a little on each day that I can and to accept that there will be a transitional phase. I note here that I am not good with transitions and messiness.
We had a tidy life in an affordable and conveniently located cottage. It would have been so much easier to stay where we were. But there's no growth in that. Complacency and safety do not make life a finer thing, so off we go into attenuated adventure with all the lessons it will bring us. My goal is to accept and ennoble the changing process of life by writing about it, breathing with it, and letting myself love all its messy glory. The big lesson of limbo is freedom.