Living in Limbo

This is a time of transition for me in many ways. One is a physical one – our house in the Southwest suburbs of the Twin Cities just went on the market and we are in the process of negotiating the final details regarding a home we wish to purchase in St. Paul. We are both downsizing and moving to a more convenient location to the various things Dave and I involved with. (We picked Chanhassen when we moved here solely for the high school, since Elena was entering high school at the time.)

The house in which we have lived for the seven years we’ve been here is now “staged” for potential buyers to look at. Everything in the kitchen put away, bookshelves removed to make rooms look more spacious (the realtor’s “stagers” couldn’t believe how many bookcases are in every room of our house), little wrapped soap in the bathrooms (with toothbrushes and usable soap hidden below the sink), etc. And while it doesn’t make the house uninhabitable, it is not comfortable. “You don’t show a house the way you live in it,” I’m told.

So there is a feeling of limbo – of not living anywhere. I suspect that sense will get stronger as we pack more boxes and as we continue to donate or otherwise dispose of items that have accumulated over the years and for which we have no further use. (I’m trying to avoid “I can’t figures out why I have this and haven’t used it for a decade, but perhaps it will come in handy sometime so I should hang onto it.)

There is no small part of me that just wants all this to be over – to just be settled in a new house. But the reality of all major transitions is that they can’t be rushed. They put us in a state of limbo for some period of time, a state that is not particularly comfortable.

The only thing to do is take some deep breaths and stay centered in the present. Not to wish to be elsewhere. Not to give into anxieties. Not to want to curl up until it is all over. Just to be. And to accept the gift of the present.