Have I said that I don't want to move? That I find change hard?

Oh sure, adventure awaits and there's always a good case to be made for the you-won't-know-unless-you-try-its, but none of that budges the small tightness within. Yes, of course I'm up for it. It's just that, every night since the decision was made, a little voice in the back of my mind has been heard to repeat: I just don't want to. I just don't want to.

1/85 in Tiny's occasional photographic series "Things"

Normally I squash that little voice. Normally, I imagine a chorus of naysayers admonishing me for not being adventurous enough, or for showing the weaknesses of fear and resistance to change. Normally, I wish I was an enormously practical woman who just marched on through life, facing forward, looking outward.

Me. A blur of movement. Photo by Tiny.

This time I'm just resigning myself to myself. I am a thinker, I mull, I feel, I worry. Things matter to me. I am listening to the ghosts in the rooms as we pack. I am remembering the stories. I am acknowledging who we were and who we've become. I am listening to the voice. I am letting it be hard. (I'm sure I'm a real joy to live with.)

I'm hoping this strategy will help me move. Save me from getting stuck.

I hope I am creating the space to move on. Gracefully. Like a swan.

Actually, these are Canada geese. Moving on.

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