Actually, my tuchus isn’t taut anymore. And my move is far from over. I have worked out twice since I transitioned to Bolinas over the last weekend in February. Once at the gym, going all out on the elliptical hard enough to significantly tweak my knee. And yesterday – a stunning hike to Alamere Falls which is not far, as in 6 miles, from The Calmmune. (That’s the name for this Brigadoon-esque land.)
I’ve learned that what takes four weeks to tighten takes four days to flab out.
I’ve also learned to not sweat not sweating, not unpacking, not having a schedule, not having reliable internet access, not having water that doesn’t smell of sulfur, and not having a single day over the next 8 where I am not driving ‘over the hill’ as they (locals) say.
Reduce that all down and basically I am learning to not sweat this transition, save for one key aspect which I will get to in a bit. But first, I have to admit, like many a bride who thinks only of their wedding day, I did not think at all about what it was going to be like just after the move.
Not at all.
Things I didn’t expect:
Packing is way easier than unpacking. Unpacking is brutal when you have nothing to unpack into.
Hours can be lost walking back and forth, from box to box, looking for…wait, What was I looking for again? I do mean hours.
Sulfur in the water may be something desirable in a hot spring, but not in a drinking glass.
I can’t find any of my socks.
The schedule I imagined has yet to materialize. I am a whirling dervish.
Springing ahead has left me far behind.
I have not set foot on Stinson Beach or Mt. Tam since our arrival.
That single filmmaker in his 40s that lives next door has been here one day. The day I wasn’t here.
It’s impossible to hang artwork alone. If accurate placement is the goal.
It’s impossible to carry a six-tier industrial shelving system inside from the car. (Thank you, strong and sweet man with the unique name who lives next door.)
Mr. Viking has gone from limping to not being able to move.
I don’t talk to my Mom nearly as much as I used to, and I still have birthday cards I haven’t opened. Both situations must change.
I don’t like not having a land line.
Other things I didn’t expect:
The dudes have not asked about TV once. Good thing. It’s not hooked up. And it’s so far down on the list of priorities that they may be graduating high school by the time I get around to it.
My landlords are beyond divine. Priceless, in the true sense of the word. Today while I walked the dog, she came out to greet me and took my hand as we strolled around the path. The connection between us is extraordinary. I imagined her as a character in my book long before I met her. Just as I imagined this property, never thinking I would find such a place. (Good thing my heart doesn’t listen to my mind.)
Small talk doesn’t exist here.
My dog has shaved 5 years off her age. I’m aiming to do the same.
The dudes love the drive.
The crashing of ocean waves is in stereo. The left channel comes from the south at Stinson Beach and the right channel comes from the west at Agate Beach.
There has been a clear reason for meeting each person I have encountered here. A VERY clear reason.
My intuitive abilities have flourished. Blossomed. Taken over. I’m ready to let them have the spotlight.
I am crazy about bats.
I like waking up to watch the sun rise more than sleeping.
West Marin has mosquitoes!
It’s warmer here than over the hill.
Moving here has made me more me, naturally me. Without trying to be me.
Even with all the madness and disorganization, we are madly in love with where we live.
The one key aspect of this transition that has caused anxiety has been being away from you. I naively didn’t consider the brain freeze I would experience in the midst of this transition. For the first time since starting HGM I’ve been nervous to sit and write it out. I don’t feel crafty or funny or particularly adept at describing this place, this time, my feelings. When my internet went on hiatus during a recent storm I was relieved.
I don’t get writer’s block. And that’s not what I have now. It’s as if I am in the transmission stage of this transition. The pixels of my life are sprinkled over the hills of Marin, taking their sweet time in the fields of wild flowers, likely cow-tipping, as they meander west. I have so much to say, so much to share, but it’s all jumbled and foggy and hiding in plain sight.
Today was going to be the day when all the pixels of me came together and my game plan went into action. I would head east, work out, write during the day (talk about a transition!), pick up the boys and come home. Make dinner, not eat out or bring in, and have a quiet evening. Bed by 9 PM.
Let’s see. I got the dudes. Whew, right? And I did make dinner…sort of. I made a salad, roasted cauliflower and passed off a rotisserie bird as my own. Everything else got shelved. It’s now 10 PM.
Tomorrow I will try again. I will write during the day. I have been pondering transitions and am excited to do it with you. There’s much to share about Mr. Viking and me. Those boundaries I set many moons ago are proving to be rock solid, making me feel secure and able to be vulnerable without fear of bleeding out.
Now I must gargle with salt water (sans sulfur) to quell this little cold that wants to put a damper on my enthusiasm and get to bed. We’ll call this a two-parter.
Be sure to come back so I can tell you about my new boy friend.
PS: Do you know how much you all rock? You are so loved.