I’m in the process of moving again. Completely expected and according to plan, but it’s still hard.
The physical act of moving is hard, but so is the psychological and emotional one. I’ve gotten used to this place and even though I’m really just moving down the street, the idea that I’m already packing up all my things again and relocating is just friggin’ hard.
I just need home base. From there I can jump around, create, and grow. But moving around all the time is like cutting the foundation out from underneath and consequently any growth that had already occurred. Gotta plan more seeds somewhere new.
I know that’s not entirely the case. There are some projects that persist and I’m certainly not starting over from zero, but there’s something of the disturbance of the balance of that foundation – the notion of home, the illusion of a permanent, secure place, cracks the foundation of me; my motivation. I self-sabotage certain elements of my work and myself because I’m just so tired of moving the couches and displacing the space where I have come to do my real good dreaming.