Suitcases and other Thing

 

It is an interesting feeling. I do not even have a word for it: the time before a change takes place.
I walk through my home knowing that I will soon leave it behind. Every little thing I once chose to make it truly mine. Every familiar corner. Every place where I spent my time.

Surprisingly, it is not sad. It feels more like closure.

I travel light, some might say - and it is true. Only my personal belongings. Only the things I want to take with me. In a suitcase, or in my mind.

Some things seem to come full circle.

My parents told me that when I was little, maybe four or five, I randomly packed a small pink suitcase and announced theatrically, “I am going out now“. 
Most of the time, it made them laugh. 
Until they realised that, unlike other children, I did not stop at the door.

Now there is another suitcase. And once again, I will not stop at the door.

This time because I know it is the right thing to do.

It was not an easy decision. I thought it through. Or at least I tried to. But perhaps I did not, not really.

 

Exactly one year ago, on a beautiful summer night, I felt it.

Some would call it a call. Others might describe it as a feeling, a deep knowing.

It was all of that. And nothing quite like it.

But that night changed the course.

 

Among the many things that followed, I knew I would find something in two major cities on different continents. I had no idea what it would be. Only that I had to go there. 
So I visited both. 
One gave me a path for my profession. The other gave me a path for myself. I chose the path for myself.

Interestingly, both came through people who knew nothing about this - or about me. 
Both mattered. One more. 
Perhaps one day I have the chance to say thank you. 

 

And here I am, moving soon.
Because of that night. 

There is nothing heroic in this. It is not the bravery of leaving everything behind and sailing into the sunset.

I write those stories. Or are they writing me? Sometimes parts blur into reality, somehow. Or reality blurs into the stories. A matter of perspective. A delicate dance. 

Thankfully, I can continue my normal work from that city. So there is that. A comfortable start. And write. And live. 

Only possible because I gave something away. Not all, only a part. Something I built over years. Now in the hands of someone else. Unthinkable a year ago. Too much ambition, too much control. Too much ego. Oh and on that front, I am well equipped. Always was, not my favorite animal. It’s on a strict diet - always. That way it helps, rather than I get in my own way. A sarcastic hungry fellow. The comments are hilarious though.

I did it anyway. It was the only way. I am glad I did.

 

The courage, perhaps, lies in quieting the rational voice that keeps asking what the hell I am actually doing.

Well.

For once, I am not listening to you, dear voice.

Not with this. 

The suitcase grows fuller by the day.
Curiosity. Gratitude. Joy. Hope. Laughter. 
And still enough space for more.
Much more.