One of the unintentional impacts of my recent trip to Turkey was that it served as a very hard pause to life.
Part of that is expected, of course: when one leaves the country (especially for vacation), one finds that one's interest in following the news of the day dwindles to naught. One aspect of this is simply that one becomes overly busy, especially on a tour like we went on: we were on the road by 0800 almost every morning and did not stop until 1800 in the evening, when we had to arrive and eat and prepare for the next day, including getting our suitcases out by 0700 or 0715. Add to that a half-hearted wifi system on the bus, and the time and energy to connect is almost not worth it.
The other part, of course, is simply that one is on vacation. The end may come during that time, but I suppose I would just as soon prefer to be surprised about it in that case. At least I could enjoy my last few moments in peace, bereft of any concern about what is coming.
The pause that I did not anticipate was the break in my life it demonstrated.
Even though I returned to New Home and then we flew out from there, my time in situ was perhaps 30 hours in all from the time I arrived the Friday for until we left on Saturday and the time we arrived home two weeks later until I flew out the following Sunday. I had enough time to pack, pet the animals, pack up a few items for the move, and then leave.
It was not so much returning home so much as it was a stopover.
I need that, now. The whole nature of the move to New Home 2.0 still seems a bit unreal to me, something that is neither here nor their. In a way, it is an extension of my vacation: by the time all is said and done, I will have been living out of a hotel room for essentially 6 weeks. And I am still in that odd phase of any new job that one knows too little to contribute but more than someone walking in the door.
The pause was simply that reminder that, for better or worse, this is home now.
The overall move continues to grind forward. The car was picked up for transport today and is expected to arrive next week. The first meeting with the moving company is next week as well; more decisions have been made about what is to be moved. After this Saturday, I will be ensconced in somewhere to actually call home for a while. Having talked with my friend the Shelter Director, it sounds as if we have a plan for bringing the rabbits here.
In other words, there really is no "going home". This is home.
How often will I return between now and the end of the year? It is hard to say at this point; given what I know of my schedule now, it will likely not be more than a handful of times, and after the end of the year and The Ravishing Mrs. TB's relocation here, perhaps even less. It is not so much the cost as it is the time there and back again.
The hard pause of the vacation brought this all home.
Perhaps sometimes this is exactly why we need such pauses, not so much that we need the break in terms of relaxation or disconnection but rather that we need the Break: the indicator that our past life really is in the past and that the new one is here, perhaps whether we are ready for it or not.







