How to say goodbye
I used to think of memories as places that become foggy- layers of time piled up in each place. Now it’s something more beautiful, like layers underneath a painting.
I’ve moved house on average more than once a year in the past ten years. It’s actually getting embarrassing to write down my address history on forms. And I’m leaving the place that I live, again.
I’m saying goodbye mentally to objects and people and trees and even bus numbers. Things that have felt familiar over the past year and a half and helped root me to the spot. Carving a home for myself in a little pocket of East London, falling in love with the markets and cafes and shopfronts, the trees, little rituals.
Canal walks have definitely seen me through the year. I’ve always had a soft spot for canals and empathised with the community and lifestyle of people who live on narrowboats, despite having no experience of living on one myself. It’s a way of life that entices me, romanticised as it may be. For now just walking alongside brings me great joy; admiring the potted plant rooftop gardens and the hand painted watering cans.
There’s something about the comfort of being near water too. It doesn’t compare to the ocean I grew up with, but it’s a source of joy nonetheless.
I have a way of adapting to new places, it’s becoming quite routine now. It starts with a list, like many things do. This list is compiled of places to discover, including; favourite spot in the park, best place for pizza, favourite bookshop. The quicker I find these places, the easier it is for me to feel at home.
Leaving is almost a reverse of that list, saying goodbye to the places that grounded me. Yet this time I’m finding myself say goodbye to even more things than I anticipated. Part of me knows I won’t live in London again. I also know that for a long time I thought about living in London one day.
And for how much I long for the Scottish landscape, I do love being in London. I’m not tired of it here. I’m simply ready to move on. This move feels different because I am balancing the weight of leaving with the lightness of arriving. It’s a rare privilege; the opportunity to be yourself.
It crossed my mind recently, how limitless time is (it’s a topic I’ve always loved to ponder upon), and because of this, how amazing it is to share the earth with anyone at all. The person driving the bus, the person you notice on your daily commute, the person you sit in the same waiting room as- what a joy that we are here at the same time, the same place. I’m realising what a precious and sacred gift the power of the current moment is. The present, what else is there?
Beautiful! Good luck with the move.