The best of times, the worst of times: I'm there

Have you ever been hit with a sudden, overwhelming sense of happiness? Can you pinpoint what person or event triggered the rush of endorphins? For me, it seems that it takes hitting a super rock-bottom low with ugly sobs followed by a few days of increasing positivity for me to really hit the natural high of so-happy-you’re-crying.

I’m there. And yes, I cry a lot. Whatever.

This all started about a week ago when I started packing up some boxes for Mr. Blue Eyes to take to our new house in Arizona. The idea of leaving this place, my home, was suddenly very very real. And it was heartbreaking. I sat on the floor and cried. And cried. And cried.


Now, I am not rejecting the idea of actually living with my spouse, that all sounds lovely. But I am in deep mourning for leaving this place; the city that sheltered me after a really terrible divorce, the neighborhood that has been a tangible comfort to me when I’m stressed, the friends who are my people, and the physical walls of an apartment where I became an adult. I am far more attached and invested in this little space of mine than I am in the house of my childhood. FAR more. Often times the idea of driving away from this oasis of happy and comfort leaves a physical ache in my heart.

Packing and labeling boxes, stacking them up and seeing that tangible tower of “you are leaving this place” sent me into a tailspin. A million thanks to my sweet friend D for stopping in to check on me (you know, after I didn’t answer phone calls or texts for a day and a half; see: tailspin). She invited me to go on a hike, and that was the beginning of my upswing.

Canyon Creek_feistyharriet_June 2015

Hiking a pretty low-key trail with two dear friends and their chattering 3-month old was so good for my soul. The sights and smells of my beloved mountains calmed and soothed my aching heart and watching the sun streak my sky in orange and magenta and gold felt like God was giving me gentle hair pats, telling me it would all be okay.

Desolation Trail Sunset_feistyharriet_June 2015

A day or two later, several hours spent with my oil paints and an audiobook brought me back to my happy place.

Sunday evening was spent with family, not my own siblings, but close enough. I have the same hands as my aunt, the same eyes as one cousin, the same feet as another, and my uncle called me by my childhood nickname the entire evening. There was no anxiety, no passive-aggressive comments, lots of laughing and giggling and jokes, and as much cookie dough as I wanted.

Mr. Blue Eyes will be here this weekend to remove the packed-up-boxes situation and I’m sure a few days snuggling him and laughing with him and just being together. I feel like so much of my life is in this extended period of uncomfortable limbo. Part of me wishes I could just quit my job and move next week, just rip off the band-aid. The other part of me is so grateful for these last few months of savoring my life and friends and experiences here, slowly saying goodbye. The truth is, both are hard, and I’m sure I will continue to have these emotional swings, both until and after I leave.

But, hopefully, I won’t have to pack up any more boxes until December when I actually move.

Harriet sig

15 thoughts on “The best of times, the worst of times: I'm there

  1. Spinch

    Knowing that I will be moving from my little yellow house in the next three or so years to a state far away from here ties my stomach in knots when I think about it. I can’t even imagine being closer to it.

    Keep fighting the good fight.

  2. WhenInTurkey

    Oooo that’s going to be me in August 🙁 Packing up my life and flying 10 hours away to a country where I barely speak the language. I’m excited now, but I know that the moment you are describing is going to hit me too…

    I’ll let you know if ripping off the band aid is better than it seems at the moment…hah!

    Good luck <3

  3. Jess

    Oh, I know this is a whole mixed bag of emotions, but I loved this post. We moved to Denver six years ago and it was something we wanted and had worked toward for a long time and we knew it was right (and it HAS been right) but leaving DC, the apartment that saw us through so much, my first grown-up, roommate-free apartment, the first place we lived together, where we were living when we got married, basically the apartment where I became an adult and developed the beginnings of my life now… it was hard. But worth it! I don’t miss it, though I do think back with nostalgia sometimes. I hope it will be the same for you.

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  5. San

    Moving is always hard. Especially if you leave behind precious places/family/friends… but something great is awaiting you on the other side of this. It’s good to cherish and mourn!


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