On March 31st, Zach and I grabbed the last few bags and boxes from our townhouse, lingered for a while in the empty kitchen with the avocado-colored fridge and stove, then left our keys and forwarding address on the counter and shut the door behind us for the last time.
|I've never been very good with choices, either…|
It was a bit traumatic for both of us. Both of us hate moving. Both of us hate change. Both of us are quite aware that we are giving up a lovely place to live in order to go off on a somewhat crazy adventure that may or may not work out.
On our way back to my parents’ house, where we are staying until we leave on the 19th, I told Zach, “I don’t really mind giving up the stability. I’m just going to really miss that house.” And upon more reflection, I believe it’s true. We still have a certain sense of stability, thanks to my family. (We are in the habit of working together to bridge the gaps between family members’ dreams and their lack of finances.) I’m not worried about returning to Missouri and finding another house and surviving on a smaller income than before.
In the end, I just don’t like change. I have yet to meet a person who does.