In which I reflect on the prospect of moving

It’s been sunny, mild, and warm around here. Today, it reached 67 F. Tomorrow, we’re expecting a blizzard. Honey Badger came home early from work today, and we took advantage of the beautiful weather and went on a walk together as a family. Those walks don’t happen as often as I’d like, and we don’t have such perfect weather as often as I’d like. In fact, there were days last week that it was just hot. It felt like summer. I’m definitely not ready for our summer heat.

So, I want to take advantage of these perfect days as much as I can, because I’m aware of how fleeting those moments are. We won’t always live here at Shadow Lake. We won’t also be just us three. Little Lion won’t always be a sweet, round-faced little toddler getting into mischief.

 I have a love-hate relationship with our tiny home. It feels like a pair of shoes I outgrew two years ago. But it’s also the place where so much of my family’s story has taken place. Where my story has taken place. So it’s also hard to imagine leaving. Packing up all our furniture, art, kitchen utensils, clothes, and moving somewhere bigger and better suited for us. Leaving our home, with it’s scratched and drawn on walls, stained carpets, bad storage, and peculiarly placed lighting, empty, waiting for someone new to fill it up and look longingly out at the lake through it’s big picture windows like I do.

We were supposed to move the year after Little Lion was born. We had considered moving before, but decided to wait since the market wasn’t great. So all that first year of Little Lion’s life, I tried to record the lake in each season, so I could remember it.

I thought to myself, “After all, this was my last spring. I should remember those yellow water lotuses and flocks of newly hatched ducklings and goslings. This is my last summer. I should remember the way the sun sparkles on the lake waters, and the way the trees have become so full that they block the light from the neighborhood. This is my last autumn, I should remember these lovely autumn flowers and the vibrant colours of the leaves as they are cast down. This is my last winter, I should remember the way the lake looks glossy and solid when it freezes, and how beautiful it contrasts with a fresh bed of snow when it’s melted.”

Every time I walked around the lake, or went for a run, I would reflect on the finality of our time here at Shadow Lake. Even to an extent, before Little Lion was born I’d be thinking about it, since we hadn’t decided to stay until that summer.

Circumstances changed after Little Lion was born, and we ended up deciding to stay another year. And then another. It was strange, because we would go visit other apartments and houses, and there was always a little bit of a question. “Are we really going to move this time? Where will we go?” But the answer was always, “No, we’ll just stay here.” In fact, part of me wonders if we’re really moving this year. Surely not, this is our home.

But I feel like I have hit my limit, and I’m maxed out on apartment living. It’s just not working for us anymore. I want to grow a garden. I want a backyard for Little Lion to run around in. I want privacy. I want stairs to walk up and down. I want to be able to play my saxophone again. I want my piano. I want to own something. I’m just ready.

But I’m also nervous. Because we might move anywhere, and there’s a lot of people I’ll have to say goodbye to. A lot of places I’ll have to say goodbye to. I grew up in this city. I always wanted to leave. I even left a few times. But I’d somehow always come back, and the older I get, and the more precious memories I make, the harder it is to imagine living somewhere else. And now that midwife attended homebirth is on the cusp of becoming legalized in our state, it’s harder and harder to move. I’ve become invested. This place is familiar, good, bad, and ugly. So it will hard to leave Nebraska.

But it might be fun. Maybe we’ll live somewhere with mountains. Maybe we’ll live somewhere with trees that tower over us and make us feel miniscule. Maybe we’ll live near my kin. Maybe we’ll live near Honey Badger’s kin. Nothing has really been settled yet, which makes me feel unsettled. I’m trying to accept that unknowing, the mystery of it all. I’m trying not to hate this tiny apartment and waste these last few precious months with a bad attitude. There’s a lot to like and appreciate here.

I want to focus on those good things as much as possible. That’s part of why I’m writing this blog, and why it’s so focused on the location. One day, the location will change. And the writing might too. But until then, thanks for reading about my life at Shadow Lake.

Sierra