I always knew that I’d intuit the right time to leave. I suppose that’s an inherent knack I have. A crawling wiggles in the back of my mind. It directs my eyes to the horizon, and I feel my skin, tight to bursting around my chest. Still, the reconciling between past and future decisions takes time. My imagination fires up. Where to next? Where do I need to be? What do I need to slough off in order to move forward without weight? Lists are drawn. Pros, cons, wildest dreams, realities (don’t realities always begin as wildest dreams?). There is the A list and the B list. A is what we want. B is something we could make work. Manifesting requires absolute faith. There is no plan B. And yet…plan B got us into the house we have called home since the end of 2018. We jumped, the A-list shifted and we free-fell (gratefully) into this place. In many ways I am grateful because if I hadn’t landed here, I might never have left. Then I would have been living on the west side of Brisbane, without a full breath to call my own.
This will be the third time I return to the Sunshine Coast, since I fell in love with it back in 2006. Each time, the same house spat me out. I kept landing back in Brisbane (do not pass go, do not collect $200) but it took my damned heart, and for every time that I have packed to leave, I have made a vow to return.
What’s next? I am asked. I am asked this a lot. I have no idea. The future, I have been told, will attend to itself.
I can’t leave this house without deep gratitude, however. I knew an estate would materialise around us with its tight gaps and high fences. I knew that it I would never be able to survive in its hem. But provided a shelter when we needed it most.
I wandered through the rooms and talked to ghosts, leaned against the wall in the kitchen, watching two and a half years of realities blur simultaneously, breath caught, searching for something to hold onto.
I pressed pause.
‘We made a cake in this house!’ I smiled, tearfully.
‘We made a LOT of cakes in this house.’ Stephen replied, hugging me.
I know more than anyone, that moving doesn’t erase the past. It just compartmentalises it, neatly.
Grief is love that won’t let go, she said.
I am learning to choose my ghosts wisely.