THE MOVE!

           You can’t live to my age without having made numerous difficult and life-changing decisions.  Tuesday morning’s decision to sell my home of 31 years was not the least of one of those decisions.  Goodbye 42 Riverside Drive; hello new world—ugh!  I’ve been standing on the precipice of this decision for four years.  Now, why would anyone avoid making a decision, even one this serious, that would relieve them of tremendous pressure?

           I’ll tell you why: 31 years of memories, of holidays, of my boys coming in the front door, the back door, mass numbers of sleep-overs, neighbors coming over to jump in the pool, probably a couple of hundred parties, gatherings, meetings, barbecues, and birthday parties. There are memories of blizzards and being snow-bound when we could only walk to our neighbors home to share a meal because of road closures, a fire, and a game of Scrabble because we couldn’t go anywhere.  I spent years bringing my boys to the local schools, served on the first aid squad for six years, and probably attended at least 25 years of July 4^th parades and fireworks – sometimes so devoted to it that we stood in the rain hovering in rain ponchos, under umbrellas.

You see, Florham Park is a bedroom town located just close enough to everything that matters, made up of winding tree-lined streets where kids leave their bikes on the front lawn at night without worry of theft and a place where we live with unlocked doors, trust our neighbors, and can walk the streets alone at night.

Now, that is why!  But the nature of memories is that they are not limited by or to a location. They come with me wherever I am and will live for as long as I think about them.  Of course, the thousands of photos that were taken while living here will help.

Sometimes we have to do not what makes us feel “happy” in the moment but what makes sense.  Oh, I am definitely not happy about needing to make this decision, but the beauty of the situation is this: I am no longer conflicted, which is another way of saying that I am clear and peace always follows clarity.  I can see to the other side now.  I can sense the ease that will come as I practice detachment because that is definitely what is being called for here: total detachment.  One must feel through this type of decision and lean into it, and I will. If one wants to be healthy, one must be willing to grieve and process, and I will.  And one must be willing to ask for help and support, and I have.  Mostly, I must detach and trust that my good is not an address.

Detachment sounds like such a Buddhist concept, and it is, but it is not Buddhist alone.  With each attachment to a person, a thing or an outcome, you are surrendering your power to the object of your attachment.   While attached, it can be so easy to find yourself in upset or disappointment should something interrupt your possessions or the outcome.  Anytime we invest our peace and happiness in a particular event or person, we are taking the chance of personal disaster.

This is no different for me and my home.  I have a home; I am not my home.  I have memories; I am not my memories.  When I leave, I leave intact, out from under the pressure of holding down this major responsibility which never ends when you live in a private dwelling with property. I complete my financial responsibilities and pave the way for new good, new love, new memories to come.  No, I am not happy but thank you God, I am no longer conflicted. I am ready for the adventure.  Ready to discover what’s new out there for me.  So I gather my courage, breathe a deep and fulfilling breath, take one step and then the next.  For now, that next looks like signing a contract on Sunday with the real estate company and starting to clean out and pack.  Here I go to the next chapter in my life.  Wish me luck (as if luck had anything to do with it).

Feeling blessed, I sign off and will let you know as the road opens up before me.