Baby Steps are Scary

We're on Christmas break now. The holiday is over. The house is clean, more or less. The fridge is full of leftovers. There are no looming deadlines. It's taking a while for that to sink in: there is no stress, at least that of the life-treadmill-hurry-hurry variety we normally have.

Naturally, I am sick! Of course. But today I got a wild hair to go to the hardware store for some light bulbs. See, we have an extensive to-do list for the house before we put it on the market. I decided I'd cross one thing off the list and pick up the sixteen (!) fluorescents needed in the basement, and what the hell, the missing ceiling tiles too.

We got to work as soon as I got home. My motivation snowballed a little and I grabbed the primer to paint over the spots where Sophie drew with Sharpie on the walls a few years ago. I got kind of quiet as I painted over her toddler art. I started thinking about how many tiny jobs it's going to take to do this; how many tiny goodbyes I'll make to this house we moved into just six weeks before becoming parents. How hard it will be to see it empty and walk out of it for the last time. This is the longest I've lived in one house, ever, in my 43 years. I love this house and fulfilled almost every one of my HGTV fantasies with it as my blank canvas. It's been my creative outlet. It is truly a dream home.

But it will have to be someone else's dream home in a few months. I have to be okay with that. I've dreamed about moving abroad for about two decades. My favorite word is "expatriate." As safe as I am now, I need to wake up and scare myself. It's fun to be scared, it makes us feel more alive. That's why people like roller coasters and scary movies. It's scary to do this! But even with the baby steps, I check in... and I still want to go through with it.

One month, seven days until the job fair.