People ask me a lot lately how I’m feeling about my upcoming cross-country move. I tend to answer in a pithy way, usually something like “I’m happy to be going to Washington, but I’m sad to be leaving Virginia.” Which is a true enough answer for most of the people I talk to, but not quite accurate.
What I’m feeling now is a deep, heavy inertia. It has seeped into everything. I’ve been sleeping late. I’ve stopped participating in things, engaging with people. I can’t seem to complete mundane tasks like sending out invoices or returning phone calls. And forget about huge undertakings such as packing or doing my taxes.
It’s exactly the kind of thing that in the past might have me questioning my decision, or wondering if I’m sinking into depression. Like, if I’m taking the right action then why isn’t everything sunshine and puppies now?
But I know this decision is the right one for me. (Sure, I’ve been prone to making rash decisions in the past, but this isn’t one. This plan has been a deliberate and wonderful two years in the making.)
So why the inertia? Why not joy and excitement?
I realized a long time ago that inertia is my psyche’s way of walling me off from pain. And I’m smack in the middle of two huge types of pain right now. The first is pretty obvious. Moving away means the loss of many things: dear friends, my daily routines, the deeply healing relationship I have with my therapist, and my self as a single person.
The second type of pain is because the experience of significant loss of any kind is like tugging on a string. A string that goes all the way back in time, and is tied to every other loss I have ever endured.
Some of those losses happened before I knew how to deal with pain. Before I realized that it doesn’t last forever and it won’t break me. A time when I needed to build that wall of inertia for protection.
So hello Inertia, old friend. Thanks for stopping by and please, make yourself at home. Feel free to stay as long as you like (seeing as how we both know you will anyway). Yawn. I’m just going to go take a nap. You do understand, right?
{ 4 comments }
Yes, change no matter good, bad, otherwise takes a lot of energy. It eats the food that usually goes to other things. So we’ll be holding the energy for you, cheering you across the country, and welcoming you on the other side.
I understand. I’ll be cheering too.
Yes, moving is very tough. It’s both physically and emotionally exhausting. But, it sounds like it’s really going to be a great thing for you, even with all the pain that’s settling into you about it now. Maybe you’re like a runner before a sprint. You’re in that deep, quiet, incredibly still place on the starting line, just before the rush of movement and speed and exhilaration.
@Christine: “It eats the food that usually goes to other things.”…that is the best way of saying this! I love it. have been thinking your sentence to myself all week. I’m n the road now, can’t wait to get to the other side, but liking the freedom of the in-between stage right now too
@Cath: Yay! Thank you
@Diane: Totally. That’s exactly what it felt like. it’s hard to give yourself a break sometimes isn’t it?
But it was really good for me.