24 Carat Star Time

Living as we are – out of boxes and suitcases until…? – I feel like I do when I am on board a plane.

Before any flight, I am as busy and as hectic as the next person. There are things to pack (“Has that blouse been washed yet?”) and arrangements to make (“What time should the taxi be here?”) and then that final countdown (“Money? Check! Passport? Check! Tickets?!?!”) before actually boarding the plane.

As soon as we are above the clouds, though, I feel as though I am in a kind of no-woman’s-land:

• I am not at home, so anything I didn’t take care of before I left will have to remain undone. Oh, there have been quick calls from stop-overs in London to ask my ex take care of some issue, or a dash to look for stamps in Paris to mail a fat envelope (long overdue) to the tax office, but anything that needs my personal and direct attention  NOW just has to wait.
• I am also not at my destination. Ok, I’ve traveled enough to know the drill. But whether I am flying back to visit family in the States or going to some vacation or business venue, I never quite know how it will be to actually be there THIS TIME. That “being there” feeling depends on a lot of things. What is my present state-of-mind? Being worried about something (or someone) keeps me in a kind of emotional altered state that doesn’t allow me to fully appreciate my here & now. Being uncomfortable in my surroundings – be it because the hotel isn’t up to snuff or the meeting not going well – makes me too aware of my here & now. Everything negative seems magnified and irritatingly intense, and my only thoughts are of escape…

In some ways I am in my familiar surroundings. I’m writing this at my desk in the first floor office ChessMan and I have shared for almost four years. The lamp on my desk is casting a circle of light directly onto my laptop keyboard, but I know that just beyond that illuminated arc there are stacks of boxes containing our books, binders and business supplies. The middle table – originally intended to hold our second coffee machine and hot water cooker – has been dismantled, it’s parts leaning against the wall. All of the shelf units are either empty or hold a hastily placed box or file that one of us might need in the meantime.

In the meantime…

It’s the same everywhere I go in the house. Little islands of domesticity raise their head amidst a sea of boxes and dismantled furniture. Surfaces are empty. Walls are bare.

Not knowing where we will land is disorienting, to say the least. What will be the view from my new living room window? Will my towels and rugs match the new bathroom? Will there be room for all of our books?

More importantly, of course: Will the new place really feel like home?

The Germans have a saying that (loosely translated)  “I’d rather have a shocking end than a shock without an end.”

Right about now, I feel as though we are stuck with a little bit of both.