I am beginning to annoy myself. I bet I’m also annoying you my lovely readers, for which I apologise.
But, as the Big Move date draws still closer we haven’t decided where we’re moving to. One day I think I’ve made up my mind and then the next I’m totally undecided. Naturally the location of our new life depends on many practical matters as well as where we’d like to be. There are so many factors to consider sometimes I think my head is about to explode. But I know that if I had a burning desire to be in one place, that would steer the decision-making and the other practical matters would solve themselves. Or even if Husband and I violently disagreed about where we’d like to be, we could argue our corner and have done with it. But no, there are so many cities we’d both like to live in.
It’s not as if the decision to leave the country and move to a city hasn’t been on our minds for a while. I’ve been talking about moving for at least the five years, possibly more. But then there were always the children’s schools to consider, or else the business kept us here. Now we don’t have either of those big restrictions we are freer to decide.
And I think this is the crux of the problem. In theory we could be anywhere. With modern communications we can work from several places in the UK, as long as it’s a fair driving distance from London. Or we could even pave a new life for ourselves in Stockholm or Helsinki.
When anyone asks where we are moving to, Husband says, ‘Wherever my Wife was last weekend.’ As if it was all down to me. In a way, I know this is my time to decide; after all I’ve spent all of our married life following him around the UK from Scotland, to Portsmouth to Plymouth to the sticks.
If only I knew where I’d like to live the most.
Perhaps this is a Blonde problem, perhaps if I coloured my hair I’d suddenly become a much more decisive person. Nah, that’s too radical.
I’ve written so many lists with the pros and cons on the various locations I’m running out of paper. (Not really, that’s a lie; or rather use of the artistic license). The ‘What If’ -scenarios are getting so fantastical that I could write a novel about our future life in each of the cities we’re considering. (That’s actually true and I may yet do this). The bottles of wine we’re consuming discussing our future is keeping the local supermarket happy and the recycling boxes full. I have permanent bags under my eyes from the lack of sleep. And I’m putting on weight. You see how I’m getting to be quite fed up with myself?
Here I’m demonstrating how I am now larger than a European car. Next will be a front door, a small cottage and so on….
Whilst I’m praying for a vision to be shown to me by a higher power during the few hours of sleep that I manage each night, I try to remember that this move is what I have been wanting for a long time, and it is wholly a good thing. I know we’re lucky, because we do have a choice. I know there are lot of people who’d like to move but cannot. I was one myself for many years. So I’ll try to remember that and try to make a decision soon. I promise. And I try not to go on about it too much longer. That’s a promise too.