Last night we listed our property with an agent. The realisation of moving hasn’t registered. What I do know it was easier when we were younger. Everything was exciting and the unexpected an adventure. In my sixties I am not feeling adventurous, definitely not excited. To be honest, I am more than a little scared of what lies ahead.
Telling myself everything will be fine isn’t working. Then I remember how exciting it was to leave New Zealand. I also remember how traumatic the first years were as we settled in Australia.
Nothing prepared us for the culture shock. Of course we have a common language but things are quite different, as are the people. It has taken us fifteen years to establish a small network of friends. As funny as the joke may be, true acceptance in this small part of Australia means one does have to be born here.
I tell myself it won’t be as difficult because we will be returning ‘home’. I hope that is so. We have been diligent to maintain our Kiwi (New Zealand) friendships over the years we have been away. We visit often and are thankful for social media that helps keep us connected.
Back in the day I was resilient, independent and like the good stoic I was, took everything on the chin. I could have invented the phrase suck it up buttercup. Nothing shocked me. I rolled with so many punches little surprised me. Now, I share more qualities with a startled rabbit than I care to acknowledge.
Today everything is a surprise. Life outside my comfort zone is no longer exciting. Between us, I want to sit in my rocking chair with a glass of pink bubbles and watch someone else move country.
… to be continued