“There’s No Place Like Home” – Clicked My Stilettos Against The Sidewalk.


So it’s that time of year again and once again I have moved interstate (actually this was over a month ago but I’ve been shockingly busy)… Thus is the life of the perpetual nomad.

I place the blame (or perhaps the gratitude) for my gypsy soul firmly at the feet of my father, if much of ones nature is hereditary then he and I make the nature vs nurture argument utterly irrelevant. When people ask me about my childhood home my first response is “Which one?”.

I’ve never really known why it happens but 6 months into a new place I find myself feeling trapped and stagnant with itchy feet and an inexorable desire to run. After much soul searching and a bottle of champagne to lend it’s bubbly courage to my introspection I’m starting to think that it’s because I’ve always been running from a place or a person or a feeling or following someone because I didn’t know where to even start looking for somewhere I wanted to run to.

You wouldn’t think that the distinction between running from and running to would be so enormous as to have been the controlling factor in my life for nearly a decade but that one little word change may as well be the difference between true love and blanket indifference.

You’d think by now, this being my 11th move in half as many years, that I’d have it down to a fine art but for some reason with 6 days to go I was running around my apartment like a headless chicken haphazardly cramming stuff into boxes while trying to sort out connecting my utilities and internet and clean everything in reach. Needless to say I did not have this under control.

movingboxes

So in a state of overwhelmed defeat I did what I always do when I need basic life advice in pretty infographics or a cute and well prepared checklist and turned to Pinterest. Normally this is the fix but all I found this time was that everyone but me manages to have their shit together… And they have it together MONTHS in advance. Why is there no moving checklist for people who leave everything to the last minute?  Where is this manual for competence that everyone else seems to be working from and why has no-one taken pity on me and sent it to my Kindle yet?

I’m not kidding here people, I AM NOT A SUCCESSFUL ADULT. I’m basically a younger, female Nick Miller.

Still, despite my usual mad panic in the face of my own procrastination, this move was different. Due in a huge part to the spectacular amount of help I received from family and friends, something that’s never happened before, but also because beneath the stress and exhaustion was a thrumming undercurrent of excitement.

I was going somewhere I wanted to go. I’d signed the lease on a house I love, in a city I chose, to build a life with the love of mine.

For the first time in longer than I want to admit, even to myself, it felt like coming home.

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2 thoughts on ““There’s No Place Like Home” – Clicked My Stilettos Against The Sidewalk.

  1. That almost unbearable struggle between life as a bit of a nomad and normality, I know all too well. Each has its pull as well as its drawbacks. Being in my mid-twenties myself, I can indulge and allow my yearnings and dreams to flourish. Then there’s also the inviting security and warmth of home.

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