The months have become mere days and we're staring our departure from Vancouver squarely in the eyes. Perhaps akin to pregnancy, the closer we get to our 'due date' [departure date in this case] the more our environment is ushering us into acceptance and readiness. I remember being about 5 months pregnant with Henry and being utterly terrified by the thought of actually giving birth to a small human and decided I'd just stay pregnant forever - because I'd figured the pregnant thing out and was actually enjoying it. But then I grew (literally) from 5 months pregnant to 7 and to 9 and my outlook changed from terror to abject determination and willingness to do anything in my power to usher that baby out of my body. I got uncomfortable - the pleasant 'nesting' five months pregnant version of myself was gone and had been replaced by the huge, sleepless, very-nearly-miserable version of myself. Likewise, I've grown out of my comfortable, I'm-going-to-stay-here-forever self and into my I'm-ready-for-more-space and please-get-the-boxes-out-of-my-life self. I've sold furniture on facebook, kijiji, Craig's List and more and the act of physically parting with our 'stuff' has helped me prepare to see our family in a new place soon. Mentally, I've begun allowing myself to feel excitement about what's next. Emotionally, I've climbed out of the dark hole of pure grief about leaving my people in this place and have begun to anticipate what the future is bringing our way. It's all such a laborious process.
Perhaps, then, it's only fitting that on this Ash Wednesday our physical reality will experience its most dramatic shift yet. We will bid farewell to our sofa, all of our remaining coffee tables and a sofa table that have been part of making our apartment home these last three years. There's something about physically letting go of 'stuff' that has helped us transition from what we've known here and make room for what is next. We'll displace a child's bed into the living room for the next 8 days where it will pull double duty as sofa and bed. We'll sit on the floor for meals. We'll use packed boxes as coffee tables. And we'll make room. Room for anticipation of a new chapter of life that's already richer for the chapters written before it. Room for excitement to grow as we look forward to enjoying furniture we've not seen in almost four years. Room for our emotionally raw selves to process all the ways this place and our people have shaped us. Room for us to explore how we may have shaped others. Room to experience discomfort so looking forward doesn't feel as overwhelming.
Yes - it's fitting that this physical shift is happening on Ash Wednesday and that our family's Lenten journey will be one of contemplative anticipation as we literally move toward new life. Today I count it a joy to experience this liturgical season so tangibly and I give thanks for all who've gone before us to help guide our steps.
