When Next Does Not Yet Have a Name
On transitions, travel, moving, navigating change
When life becomes unsettled, the part of my brain that writes and creates tends to freeze up.
It is one of the reasons that all my great ideas to take writing holidays in beautiful places usually do not work. It is also one of the reasons that I tend to write when I have another life, a normal life, one where I get up, go to work, come back home, do regular exercise, cook my own food. Those are the conditions which allow me to get lost in words and stories, to relive adventures within the safety of routine.
The practice of newsletter writing has been good for me to show up when I don’t feel like it. So now, in the stop-start of uncertainty, I find I am writing, even though my mind is already wandering to the suitcase I am starting to pack, to the mattress I need to sell or remove, to the cleaning services I need to pay for, to the fridge I need to empty, to the next phase of life which I need to invent, because this one is closing its doors and the future seems blurry, unclear, undecided, without physcial form.
It is moments like these that I often think about when people tell me, wow you have lived in ten countries, that must be amazing. Because, these moments are the realities of living in ten countries for me, the moments where I feel physically and emotionally torn in transition, as if I will find myself by the end of the month, teleported through time and space to a completely different universe, where perhaps my life exists in 4D.
I know when I land in Scotland, I will feel cold. The May green will be so bright that I will keep blinking. I know I will feel like I can speak, after months relatively alone here in Dubai, I will enjoy talking again. I will say exactly what I think. I also know I will miss the quiet that relative aloneness has brought. I know that in transition, sometimes it is helpful to be alone, to let myself be an unformed thing instead of the shape that the rest of the world seems more at ease with me being.
Deep down, I know that next requires further inner reflection and outer action. I know if I stay here, it will be hard to escape the feeling from the past two years of trying to make my curvy lines fit into a square that never cared for the way curves are formed.
Because these are the moments no one talks about, the moments when you are everything at once. The old place and the place yet to come. And the place that came before that. And the ex-boyfriend, who you suddenly remember out of the blue, find yourself crying about, when you have not thought about him for years.
And there is the work of transition to do, the cleaning, the tidying, the grieving, the adjusting, the disposal, the discovery. The knowledge that something of you will slip away with leaving this place. Something you have taken the time to grow. And because it is still tender, you do not know whether or how it will live outside the routines of this city. And even if you don’t have a full life here, that loss will still be the loss of something, which might send you spinning backwards before you can feel it reform and refine in a more stable form.
If you do not skim places, if you let yourself know them, this is what you are left with. You have let your feet mark the earth, and so that earth has marked you too. And so you are bonded, whether that place is right for you or not. Whether you love it or not. Whether you know it is good for you or not, there you are, connected to people and places in the most impractical, unexpected parts of the world.
And although I know a next life will begin, for a while I will grieve this one, because despite it being hard, I made it mine.
Friends,
I might be a bit erratic in writing to you over the coming weeks, due to all these unknown aspects of what is next.
If you are catching up and want to read the backstory to my relocation, there is more here:
And the story of my last twenty years of living in ten countries, here:
What else has been happening?
I hosted a live video interview with Clare Egan about Notes from Saving’s the World first collaborative writing project - the Hope Scrapbook, which was a great way to learn more about Clare’s experiences of hope after trauma, as well as how to learn to how to do a video interview live for the first time (nothing like diving into the deep end).
I was a bit mortified to send the video interview I did with Clare directly to your inbox without any introduction. That was due to not having a clue how the video technology worked on this platform, so I am very sorry if that felt a bit on the nose, and thanks for sticking with me, as I explore ways to shape conversation and community around these big topics (and the technology attached to them).
To me, it feels important to unpack some topics, to understand them from different perspectives, beyond my own experience. I want to play to see how collaboration and different media allow for shaping new ideas and understanding.
Coming up
I will host an interview with
about her research on hope in times of climate crisis this coming Friday. Subscribe for details of times.I am planning a new collaborative Scrapbook, more details in the coming weeks.
Join In
As always, jump into the comments and let me know:
What is your approach to transitions in your life, whether moving country, or job, or home, or entering a new life phase?
How would you like to talk about big topics like hope? Is there a way I can shape a place for us to learn and explore together?
Or take a small action with a like, comment, subscribe or offering me some future inspiration, which I tend to find in the form of flat whites.
Back to packing,
Catriona
I am approaching a big change myself next year. But the planning is already underway although the outcome remains uncertain. It's exciting and daunting. All the best with your endings and new beginnings.
What a lovely piece, and I've had my fair share of transitions in life - I moved around every 3 years for the first 18 years of my life, had 8 stable years in one place, and then from there I had about 8 years of bouncing around before finally settling down in Ukraine...or so I thought. It was fairly smooth sailing up until that point, so I suppose the transitions are easier when you're in control of your fate, if you know what I mean. But as you put it so well, "the knowledge that something of you will slip away with leaving this place" always lingers.
I can see how challenging it must be for you now, with the uncertainty of what's next -when the future is murky, it's hard, for sure. Even though I'm settled now in Vienna, there is still a lot of murkiness and uncertainty and this is when I start longing for Scotland or N Ireland (but alas, that's merely a dream...)