Transiting through transition
Happy Easter readers. I hope you enjoyed your chocolate eggs, some family time and a nice break from work. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get last week’s blog done due to our big move to the coast. Time was just not quite on my side and packing boxes was my big priority. So we have now moved from the burbs of Bromley to the cliff tops of Rottingdean.
The funny thing is we’ve been here just over a week now and I’ve felt…well, here’s the rub, I haven’t really felt anything. Almost a nothingness.
It’s the strangest thing, because the facts are that we now live in a much more spacious house, with great sea views, all the mod-cons and pretty much most things one could want. We’ve been incredibly blessed to be given some fantastic furniture, from a sofa suite to a great dining table and chairs, as well as other pieces that make a home. We’ve had the help of friends and family to help with the move and to settle us in. So my head feels incredibly grateful for everything, but my heart is taking a bit of time to catch up.
“The most minute transformation is like a pebble dropped into a still lake. The ripples spread out endlessly.” Emmanuel
At first I thought it was simply because the house was ‘soulless’, a kind of blank canvass and it just needed our energy and our belongings to adorn the spaces. But the more I think about it, the more I’m wondering whether this is simply part of my changeover process to this new place, our fresh abode by the sea. This transition is interesting terrain – a bit like the no-(wo)man’s land between two countries and I haven’t quite stepped into or embraced the full cultural spectrum this area has to offer me. Surprisingly enough, I found it almost easier, or perhaps I was more accepting when my hubby and I sold up and went to live in Costa Rica. Maybe that was such an extreme contrast that my emotions were already prepared to come along for the ride.
This morning I left the house at 7am and made my way to the cliff-top bus-stop, a minute away. The wind was bracing and whipped the hair around my face and the salty air smelt fresh and invigorating. And as I looked across at the sea, dappled with feathers of white foam I realised I was feeling something today. Each gust was blowing away the proverbial cobwebs, or whatever stuck energy was within me. I sensed a small smile creep across my face, made all the wider when my hubby called me from the house and waived from the bedroom window. I reached the station in good time, got my ticket and a coffee and found a nice window seat on the train. The sun filtered through the trees along the line as I was transported to London at high speed – from the seaside to the centre of London. Now there’s a transition… And as I sat on the train and thought further about transition, I likened it a bit to being like a caterpillar in its cocoon, going through a process of change and at the end, through the course of metamorphosis, a butterfly emerges. Whilst I’m not yet unfurling my wings, I can begin to feel my cocoon cracking a bit and the light of a new day, a new era seeping in to my world.
“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.” Hellen Keller