Surreality

We made the definitive decision to move in February this year. We had, of course, talked about it ALOT before this date and mmm'd and aaarh'd about it pretty relentlessly whenever we went away from the village. But when we were at home the conversation dried up. Life took over... work become the main driver of everything we did, punctuated by dog walks and meeting mates in the pub. It was comfortable and easy and therefore easy to put on the back burner.

Even once we'd made the decision, it seemed a distant thing - almost a whimsical thing. Something that would happen eventually but not any time soon. I'm a true believer of 'thought-word-deed'. Everything starts as a thought but a lot of the time that's as far as it goes. It's only once it turns into words that its chances of success are very much improved. Telling people was harder than I thought it would be. I was worried what my parents would think about us going from living 8 miles away to living 210 miles away, I was worried that they would think we were leaving them and I would be abandoning my duties as a daughter but actually, they've been really supportive and understanding... excited, even. And after the 'word', comes the 'deed'. Putting our house on the market, putting in an offer on a house in Cornwall - even these things didn't really make the whole idea seem like a reality. It was just a bit of excitement in an otherwise ordinary time.

Packing, though.. that is different. Now we've taken some pictures from the walls and taken the spare bed out of the spare room, the house feels different. As soon as a piece of furniture is packed away, the house is no longer as it always has been. There is a shift of perspective. I had always considered this house our home. The bricks and mortar have protected us from the elements for the last eight years, the fences and hedges have shielded us from the outside world and I assumed that it was these things that make a home. However, I no longer believe it is. It is the people that live within and the collection of possessions that translate to memories of times and events that really make a home... it's all of the photos in frames full of people we love, it's the trinkets and ornaments that remind us of a holiday or a weekend away.

With every item we pack into a box, the house detaches itself from us and us from it. Slowly, bit by bit, it becomes an empty vessel for someone else to fill with their loved ones and memories and it reinforces to me that whilst we will be leaving somewhere beautiful and amazing, it is not the house that makes those memories worth keeping or life worth living. It makes little difference if the house is ugly or beautiful... it's the people within it and the world outside it that is important. If I can let go of my materialistic view of what should make me happy then I am sure I will find contentment and fulfilment. A beautiful house in a beautiful village is lovely, for sure.. and I will miss it.. but it doesn't mean that the happiness we have found here, won't be found elsewhere... even if it is a 1960's bungalow.