Endings and beginnings are intimately intertwined, are they not?
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end. – Seneca the Younger
In the case of my life in Georgia, the ending was a slow fade rather than a distinct moment. Even though I technically moved to Nevada a couple of years ago, I still had my loft in Roswell to spend time with Fred and George. Having that anchor in Georgia, I was able to slowly move the details of my life to Nevada instead of all in one fell swoop. At the beginning it was a luxury to be able to tackle those details little by little. But after a while that stable anchor became a burden. At some vague tipping point, keeping the loft was a constraint, not a freedom.
The rhythm with the boys there has slowly changed over the last couple of years, too. Now Fred has graduated high school and is heading off to college. Since George is my traveler, he’s willing to go exploring with me much more so than Fred is. This life shift means keeping a home base in Georgia became irrelevant. It was time to let the loft go—along with its financial overhead—to embrace a new way of spending time with George. (With the hope that Fred will join us when his college life permits!)
I’ve never been one to get too attached to a home. That’s not to say I don’t appreciate or haven’t been fond of the places I’ve lived. Quite the opposite. I cherish my times and memories from those places. But I recognize when something is no longer working and take action to make necessary changes. And so, my life since the beginning of the year has been a juggernaut of wrapping up the remaining details of my existence in Georgia. Flitting in for a few days at a time to get the pieces in place. Or slowly remove the pieces is probably a more accurate way to put it.
It’s been a bit of an ordeal, honestly. In addition to the basic challenges of moving, the process of selling the loft had some additional wrinkles resulting in a bizarre real estate nightmare. With the expertise of my fabulous friend and agent, that scene slowly fizzled to resolution so that the final event this month, the closing, was quite anticlimactic. Throw in a bunch of other random life challenges and the ending was just a footnote. That seems weird for a place that holds such great importance in my life.
But I’d already emptied the loft the month before. Painters eradicated my unique flare for color with bright, clean, white walls. Everywhere. To me it looked bland and uninviting; small and sterile. Not the vibrant and warm place I called home for a time.
And now it’s done. Of course, exiting is bittersweet. My five years in that loft have been wonderful. It’s the only place I’ve ever had the opportunity to make uniquely my own. I made it my sanctuary filled with color and texture. A simple place to be a home base between adventures. But this ending allows me to finally focus on what’s ahead. It eliminates the distraction of returning to a place I had mentally checked out of ages ago.
Plus, my quiet life in Nevada made returning to the Atlanta area more and more difficult. There’s a base-level intensity to dense urban living that stands in stark contrast to life in the desert. There’s a tension and buzz that permeates everything in Atlanta. It begins as soon as the airplane’s wheels hit the ground and continues relentlessly regardless of my efforts to manage my time and engagements. With less and less time in that urban environment, each return became more difficult. What had been my normal—the chaos I was accustomed to—eventually became a strain and a difficult transition.
This new life—desert life—suits me. I’ve always wanted to be out west. Anyone who knows me well will tell you the difference in my demeanor between my eastern life and my western one. I’m in a better place. A good place.
Even though it was time to move on, honoring this sanctuary in my life is important.
Farewell, groovy loft. New beginnings are ahead for your new owner. And for me.
Everything that has a beginning has an ending. Make your peace with that and all will be well. – Jack Kornfield