Letting Go

Eight more days until we're out of our house. Sixteen more days until we hitch a one-way ride to our new life. I'm in a perpetual state of disbelief that we're really doing this. It feels unreal.

I got a mini-massage at the health fair I was working the other day, and the masseuse said I was holding an extreme amount of tension in my back, neck, and shoulders. She said I should really be going for regular massages because I had an insane amount of trigger points, or something. I don't have time or money for that, but now that I think about it, I did used to have more mobility in my neck, and my jaw muscles didn't used to pop and freeze when I opened my mouth. I've been under so much stress for so many months that I hardly notice it anymore. Sometimes I find that I'm unconsciously holding my breath. My jaw is tight and my back is rigid.

So far, things are working out just fine. Despite my constant fears and Tom's predictions of doom, all is going exactly as we'd hoped (for the most part anyway). We managed to fix up our house and make it look beautiful, in spite of our lack of DIY experience. (I can now wield a power drill with confidence, hang shelves, tile a backsplash, lay sod, cultivate a flower garden, remove countertops, re-hang cupboards, install a sink, and replace a faucet.) In a weak real estate market, our house went under contract in less than three weeks. The movers are booked and the boxes are ready to be packed. I've finished the classes I wanted to complete before the move. We don't have an apartment in Brooklyn yet, but we have enough leads that I feel optimistic about finding one. It's all going to be okay.

Years ago, I did an Outward Bound weekend with a bunch of other city girls, and our big challenge was to rappel down the side of an icy cliff. The whole way down, I clenched my teeth and held my breath, prepared for my fall to certain death. Just before I got to the bottom of the cliff, a realization swept over me: I was safe. The rope was holding me and I couldn't fall. I was doing exactly what I needed to be doing, and people were surrounding me, cheering me on and keeping me safe. I felt a glimmer of what I could have been feeling the whole way down - confidence, empowerment, joy. Then suddenly I was down, being helped out of the harness. I trudged a little way off to be alone, sat down in the snow, and cried for what seemed like hours.

Right now I don't know if I'm still near the top, or almost down, but I'm going to try to relax my grip and trust the rope to catch me this time.