Yesterday the walls came crashing down. Literally.
One of the cabinet doors in my kitchen broke away from the wall as I attempted to put away my freshly washed french press.
At the time I thought it was funny. The external, literal falling down of things around me. Lately it's felt like I've been driving in Mumbai again; trying to dodge collisions and this one I couldn't avoid.
Yesterday though, I shrugged it off, put in my School Dude request to have it repaired (Yes, I know I'm spoiled by only completing a brief online form to have a handyman come to my apartment and make the repair for free) and went about the remainder of my day.
About 11:30 this morning, though there was a pile up. This crash came in the form of a doorbell and a table.
My friend's movers arrived to pick up the table she bought from me.
The movers slide off their sandals, picked up the table and were out in again in moments. This move was perfect. A green light. After closing the door, I sat back down to work. My eyes glanced back to the lesson plan and suddenly, I started to cry. The collision A full on, noise making, eye squinting, boogery cry. I'd been hit.
While washing my face, I realized this crash had nothing to do teaching but was all about my space. I'm a nester. My home space is important to me. It's sacred. This new emptiness made me feel as though the end had arrived.
The longer I live abroad though, I realize this is part of transitioning. It comes in waves. Today hit me. It wasn't so much about the thing. The table. It was about the people I'm saying goodbye to for a while.
Rather than wallowing in my sorrows in my emptier nest, I reached out to my friends who in an instant were there with understanding and support.
Friends quickly offered to move up our afternoon date. They arrived earlier. After lunch, manis and pedis and just some good talks and quality time with some of my girls; I'm no longer suffering from transition whiplash.
While I hope no more literal things come tumbling down around me, I do know that these collisions will be a part of the next few months ahead.
End note 1: In case you wondered, the French press was also a casualty. Shattered and not quite as shrug-off-able as the cabinet door.
End note 2: Yes we are riding in a rickshaw with a lampshade above our heads. All you need to know is that it made me feel better.
One of the cabinet doors in my kitchen broke away from the wall as I attempted to put away my freshly washed french press.
At the time I thought it was funny. The external, literal falling down of things around me. Lately it's felt like I've been driving in Mumbai again; trying to dodge collisions and this one I couldn't avoid.
Yesterday though, I shrugged it off, put in my School Dude request to have it repaired (Yes, I know I'm spoiled by only completing a brief online form to have a handyman come to my apartment and make the repair for free) and went about the remainder of my day.
About 11:30 this morning, though there was a pile up. This crash came in the form of a doorbell and a table.
My friend's movers arrived to pick up the table she bought from me.
The movers slide off their sandals, picked up the table and were out in again in moments. This move was perfect. A green light. After closing the door, I sat back down to work. My eyes glanced back to the lesson plan and suddenly, I started to cry. The collision A full on, noise making, eye squinting, boogery cry. I'd been hit.
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| Also when you move furniture you also realize just how dirty your walls are. |
The longer I live abroad though, I realize this is part of transitioning. It comes in waves. Today hit me. It wasn't so much about the thing. The table. It was about the people I'm saying goodbye to for a while.
Rather than wallowing in my sorrows in my emptier nest, I reached out to my friends who in an instant were there with understanding and support.
Friends quickly offered to move up our afternoon date. They arrived earlier. After lunch, manis and pedis and just some good talks and quality time with some of my girls; I'm no longer suffering from transition whiplash.
While I hope no more literal things come tumbling down around me, I do know that these collisions will be a part of the next few months ahead.
End note 1: In case you wondered, the French press was also a casualty. Shattered and not quite as shrug-off-able as the cabinet door.
End note 2: Yes we are riding in a rickshaw with a lampshade above our heads. All you need to know is that it made me feel better.
Love to you and the girls!
ReplyDeleteThanks AJ! Stay safe with all that climbing over walls.
ReplyDelete