Five years and ten months ago, I gave notice to my old apartment complex that I was planning on moving out. At the time I was nervous because while the place I was living required 60 days notice, where I was (hopefully) moving only required 30 days notice. So I didn’t actually have a place lined up just yet. It was definitely one of those, “Are you ready to jump?” moments, at least emotionally.
But it was a good choice, of course. I got an apartment where I wanted, and I quickly began to love my new neighborhood. So when I dropped off a letter this morning giving my moving out notice for where I live now, I definitely felt a little dÃ©jÃ vu. Because of course, we haven’t actually closed on the new place and won’t for another three and a half weeks. And I still have a lot… and I do mean quite a lot… of packing and sorting to do. I did cart a large trash bag’s worth of stuff out of my hall closet last night, though, which felt good. (Also found half of a LUSH Christmas pack that I’d forgotten about. I’ve decided it’s never too early to smell Christmassy, post shower.)
In general, I’ve been a fan of the jump, even if it’s nerve-wracking at the time and I wonder what the heck I am really doing. It’s funny but whenever I have a big decision/choice to make, I always flash back to a book by Ellen Raskin (Figgs and Phantoms) that I read as a little kid. In it, one of the characters is getting hidden messages from books, and relaying them to the main character. And the one that always stood out was, “Jump!” That one-word directive was so nicely concise and yet held so much meaning in it.
(Now or never. Go for it. Don’t second guess yourself. Jump!)
Of course, several times I’ve jumped and failed to land properly. But so far, this jump feels like it’s going to get a good score from the Olympic Judges. Fingers crossed.