The Move

Moving across the world has been an experience. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that my eye twitched with stress for seven weeks straight. SEVEN WEEKS.

I didn’t manage all that well.

I barked at my family, consumed ibuprofen like candy, ate and drank with abandon and finally surrendered. That was the worst. That was when the fog settled in.

I’d wake up each morning with a belly full of worms and I’d wait. Like a drug, I’d feel the haze seep into my consciousness and slow the panic. I was tired all of the time. I watched my life unfold from an emotional distance that was unsettling but not so much so that I did anything about it. In the fog, there was safety. I escaped there.

In the weeks leading up to our departure, we put our beloved cat on a plane to Canada, had a massive garage sale which was attended by the every batshit nutter within a ten mile radius. We saw dentists, doctors, orthodontists and optometrists. We sold our cars and (gulp) our Harleys. Nine days before leaving the country, we went on one last motorcycle trip with close friends while my kids bid farewell to their dad. Four days later, we moved out of our house and into a hotel and like a complete idiot, I continued to home school. The stress was overwhelming.

Finally, the day came for us to leave and our first stop was Canada, to see my family. We stayed with my brother and his lovely wife for a couple of days. Still, the fog didn’t lift, for which I am enormously grateful because this time at the end of our visit, as I waved goodbye to them, like I have a million times before, I felt something splinter inside.

Next, we took a ferry over to mum’s house in Victoria and invaded her space for several days. My eye twitched like a junkie and we laughed a bit speculating that it was my mother's power to make me crazy but the truth is, she was gorgeous. The geographical distance between us had never bothered me in the eighteen years that I’d been gone from Canada and the reality of travel these days is such that she will likely be able to fly to Auckland faster than she has been able to travel to Arkansas but there is something about having the expanse of the Pacific Ocean separating us that gives me pause. Selfishly, I want her to emigrate to New Zealand.

While in Victoria, I was able to briefly catch up with two of my girlfriends from high school. Although we didn’t get a lot of time together, I was reminded of how fortunate I am to have these people in my life who love me unconditionally and drop everything to see me when I’m in town, in spite of the fact that I really suck at staying in touch. I love them and miss them.

We left Victoria and took another ferry across to Seattle where a third girlfriend from high school (that I haven’t seen in TWENTY FIVE YEARS) met me. She left work, traveled south the three hours from Vancouver, on a Friday, during rush hour traffic, to have a cocktail and catch up for a few hours. I am still awed by that. I have missed her too.

Early Saturday morning on October 1, 2011, Dallas, the kids and I boarded a plane for Honolulu where we would spend the next nine days trying to peel away the layers of stress that had enveloped us for the better part of two months. As the nose of the plane lifted off the ground, I felt the first hints of relief from the perpetual weight on my chest. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and comforted myself with the knowledge that the hardest part was over.

We were on to our new adventure.