Big step: I’ve just given notice on my apartment; I’m moving to England. I know, that’s not far away and not all that different. Although there’s probably a lot more that’s different from what I’m aware of now…
Moving means moving towards something or away from something. It means gaining something or letting go of something, growing into something, or freeing yourself from something that no longer feels right.
I’ve moved dozens of times, but never have both sides come together so closely as now. I want to leave Kiel, and I want to go to England—I want both equally and independently of each other.
Getting away from here…
I lived in Kiel for fourteen years. But the city is no longer home to me without my dog, Polly. It has become one of those cities that “have beautiful parts, too.” (usually the German euphemism for “If you don’t know where to find these parts, the city’s not worth going to.”)
Even my apartment is no longer home. Since returning from Iran, I could barely stand being or breathing there, let alone living. Everywhere I look, I don’t see Polly.
I wish I’d outgrown Kiel. Instead, it’s like that cozy favorite sweater that’s been washed on the wrong program. It’s become itchy, lost its comfort. You’re wearing it anyway and realize it’s shrunk, too. You can’t get it off fast enough to scratch the itchiness.
Things got better once I started packing up the flat. Since I’ve been emptying the place, being there feels better. The outside and my inside fit together again. As I read on a card once: “Grief is love that has become homeless.”
…to here.
How could I possibly describe the place I’m moving to? It’s a village in the New Forest National Park in southern England. Google pictures of it, and you’ll understand my problem: it’s hard to believe that such a beautiful region actually exists. Let alone that you can live there.
Two years ago, I went there first time, and several times since. I have tried to capture my feelings for this place.
Are you sure?!
Of course, I’m also a little nervous. Will everything work out fine? Will I earn enough money? Won’t I be lonely?
We’ll see. Deep down, I’m sure it will all be fine. I want to live in this house, which has been there since 1786. I want to care for it with my mother-in-law and my husband. I want to bring it into the future, as well as the property that belongs to it. I want to become part of its history. And I want to continue traveling and writing—and continue earning money from it. And I want to continue working with dogs—in whatever way that may be.
It doesn’t sound like a life too hard to grow into—I can’t wait for it to start.
