It hadn’t really occurred to me before, but I realize, now, that I haven’t actually made our “official” announcement anywhere beyond talking to friends and family: we’re going to be moving.
We’ve given our notice, and come sometime in May/June, we’re going to be moving away from Port Townsend. Our current trajectory has us headed for the Durango, Colorado area (although I realize this could change in an instant, given the rapidity of recent energies), and at this moment, we have very few plans about the “how” of that. We don’t, at this moment, know where exactly we plan to live once we start heading in that direction, whether we’ll store our stuff here, or take it with us, etc.
Which might look “crazy,” from outside, but feels perfect from over here — for both me and my Beloved.
We both began to feel that, paradisaical as Port Townsend is, it is simply not our “place” anymore. This doesn’t come as a surprise to me now, but would have, ten (or even five) years ago. When I first moved to PT, I was very certain that this would be the place where I spent the rest of my life (my Beloved had similar feelings upon moving here).
The sense that I wasn’t properly placed began, I believe, more than a year ago, but certainty came after I returned from my trip to the Midwest. While I was there, I experienced a sudden and surprising sense of physical vigor and energy shift. It was more than just the energy of being on a trip — it seemed geo-physical and energetic beyond the simple newness that travel brings.
When I returned and told my partner about this, she confirmed that she, too, had experienced a growing sense that it was time for us to move along.
We opened ourselves to guidance and felt into the adventure. We considered many places, discussed our likes and dislikes, “must-haves” and “must-not-haves”, and found that we both felt drawn to Colorado.
We’d each been having “fly-bys” about CO since the Autumn of 2010 — I’d pass a group of people talking on the street, and the word “Colorado” would be the only thing I’d actually hear of their conversation — the most promising prospective renter of the house we were leaving behind was relocating from Colorado, etc., etc., etc.
Durango popped up as a similarly small, quirky community that had many of the things we were craving — so that is where we are pointed — for now.
We got pretty clear about that by December, and I will say that in my long post-integration rambles around Port Townsend, there has been a consciousness that this beautiful little town may not be right outside my door for very much longer, but there is no sadness or regret tinging that — just a deep appreciation for this place that is so willing to be its weird and wonderful self.
We’ve given our notice and have enjoyed the interactions with our landlords/lady as we talk about what’s next — flexibility and openness reign supreme; a liberation and a blessing.
There are ways in which not knowing what is next feels profoundly freeing — and “youthening” in a way — last night, I was speaking with a friend about how I had moved out West in the late 70’s: I had no idea what I would do for work or where I would live when I departed the great State of Kansas — I had a VW Bug packed with pretty much everything I owned (my mom would ship my books out to me later), and I drove across the country on a great adventure, unbowed and unworried about my future.
It feels like that again. I am shedding more “stuff” before we go — much of it well-loved and deeply valued — but like this wonderful town, not really “mine” anymore in some way.
There is one immense difference for me in taking this leap, compared to my leap of thirty-four years ago: Technology. Many (if not most) of my closest friends don’t live nearby me anyway — our contact is primarily via the internet or phone — so moving “away” doesn’t mean that I lose contact.
When I transported myself half-way across the continent after college, long-distance telephone calls were a cost so dear that they were reserved for Christmas, birthdays, and the occasional death or dire illness, and the vast majority of my contact with home was carried out via (many) letters sent through the post (most of them hand-written). Sometimes I miss that kind of correspondence, but I suppose my blog has filled that gap, at least a bit. Certainly I would not trade the immediacy of my technologically-enhanced contact for it now.
So there it is — official and in writing and for all the world to see.
I wonder what will happen next.