It’s that awkward in-between stretch that really leaves one helpless. It’s knowing that something drastic is about to change, and that you cannot do anything about it until the day comes when it actually changes.
In example: moving away from New York City. My one-way ticket to Wisconsin reads May 31, 2014. When I glanced at the date in the upper-right hand corner of my computer screen just now, my stomach churned a little at reading May 1. One month.
A month to slowly pack my too-small apartment into two even smaller suitcases. A month to gather all the pieces of my heart and soul I’ve scattered throughout this concrete jungle, and see if they, too will fit in my luggage, or if I will leave them behind.
The very conscious process of preparing to upset my life and relocate it 1,000 miles away to a city in which I’ve never lived , a roommate with whom I’ve never lived, and a job I don’t yet have is mildly to severely discomforting depending on the day (though, yes, still desired). I feel like I’ve entered the very lopsided, confined Tunnel of Knowing, and must crawl through it until I finally pop out the other end on May 31.
But I chose not to continue to crawl through that tunnel, but rather dance my way from start to finish. Moving, after all, is not an end, but rather another step in my lifelong journey (yes, I do console myself with such sappy sentiments on occasion). I don’t have a bucket list or a daily agenda. But I do have a month, some darn fine friends, and one hell of a playground at my disposal.
Pardon my plagiarism, but: let the wild rumpus start!
Or, if you prefer Latin clichés: carpe diem!
Or, my personal favorite, a little Emerson: “What potent blood hath modest May!”