Miles from somewhere

I haven’t been a daily blogger since the days of infertility treatments and pregnancy, when each nuanced data point seemed memorable and each anecdote recountable. Even before that, in the days of keeping a diary (or the later, more mature, “journal”), I was not so much a keeper of frequent chronicles as a keeper of highs and lows. My diary recounts the friends with whom I was on the outs, or the boys – oh the boys – on whom I had crushes, or romantic inclinations, or burst delusions. (I am somewhat terrified, now that I am a parent, to experience this phase of my childrens’ lives!)

And now the flip side seems to be true for me – the bigger the event, the more significant the news, the less I am able to capture the moments – to hold onto them, find their significance, recount them. Current happenings in our lives are so big I cannot begin to capture them completely, and so I freeze up and don’t even begin. But without the baby steps, the mini-moments along the way, the major event looms larger and even harder to capture. And so I will begin.

—

We are on the cusp of a different sort of two week wait. In another time, on another journey, the two week wait was a pause, the great unknown. Are we or aren’t we? What if? When will we know? This time, the two week wait is a countdown to a known endpoint. In two weeks, movers will arrive at our house to pack up all of our things, load them on a giant truck (we have a LOT of things), and move them 1200 miles away to our next big adventure.

But the ambiguity remains. What will come next? Where will this journey take us? (And more concretely: Where will we be living after our month of temporary housing? What school will the kids attend in the fall? Can I sign the kids up for summer camp from afar? And so on, into the night.)

I don’t know how much of this journey I will be able to capture, but I’ll try, lest my grown-up diary journal turn into an abandoned chronicle.