The talk of moving back to NY has been going on at my place for over ten years. And the problem is that, there is no solution. My significant other’s entire family is here, in Hawaii, as is his job. My entire, and very, very small family, is in NY. My mother sees her only grandson, our son, once a year (although we have been taking extended summers in NY over the past few years). When we lived in NY for six months when my son was in 2nd grade, we spent Thanksgiving together but it is the only major holiday we have been together for, for as long as I can remember. I seriously can’t count the fourth of July.
But we have been having the no solution conversation for so long. And there has been no resolution. I could not make the call to move. It all seemed so difficult. And scary. So there was just inertia. Years and years of inertia. Of just not doing anything. Not actually making a choice. Although, I suppose not doing anything is making a choice of sorts.
And then, well, death. I mean, supposedly it is a thing that everyone grapples with in some form or another. It was not on the top of the list of things that I contemplated until it was. Until I had some weird health things going on. Until I felt like my body was and could, at any time, completely betray me. And all of a sudden, people were dying left and right. Young and seemingly healthy people who went to sleep at night and did not wake up. People who had joyously moved home to Hawaii after an absence. People planning to celebrate life’s milestones. Just dying. And I have heard all of the platitudes of living in the moment because tomorrow is not promised but it had all been meaningless to me. Until it wasn’t. And I realized that my mom is getting older and she could die. But that I was also getting older and I could die. And the choice was made. I knew in my heart it was time to go. I knew that there would never be a good time. I knew that it would be difficult on me. On my son. On my significant other. I knew that it would rip out our hearts and stomp them on the floor. But I knew that we had to go. I knew because I did not feel that I was living a purposeful life. I knew because I was questioning, really the point of it all. Or even if I there was a point. And being with my NY family felt like the most purposeful thing I could think of.
The decision was made before the false missile warning happened when we thought we might not live till the afternoon. The decision was made before a close friend was diagnosed with cancer. The decision was made with no place for us to live. With uncertainty around our health insurance. But it was made. And while things have happened, the most concrete thing so far is happening on Friday. It is the day I put my car on a barge to be shipped cross country from HI to NY. I will take Shelly (the orange Fit) to the dock and leave her. The next time I see her she will be in NY. Hopefully in one piece and in working order.
Part of this move feels a little like a death is occurring. Someone told me that the reason is because I am doing all of the very most stressful things in life at one time. I think I had put the whole thing out of my mind for the past month or so but with Shelly taking off later this week, it is all real and I am feeling stressed out and anxious which manifests itself in crying. Potentially at any time. Over anything. Like permanent PMS.
And I know that my family in NY will read this and be concerned over the entire move. But if I didn’t feel this way, this way about the place that I’ve been for so long, there would be something wrong with me. So the move is coming. Slowly and quickly at the same time. And I am not ready. But I am going. I am coming. To try to be purposeful.