When it comes to making decisions, I’ve always been an open doors and see where they lead kind of person. I’ve opened some amazing ones, and got stuck for too long in some rooms I really should have walked right out of. I’ve stayed in some rooms partying with the best of them, I’ve stayed long after everyone else left for the more exciting party, I’ve stormed out of others, or taken one peek through a keyhole and run a mile.
I’ve outstayed my welcome in some rooms, started to get a bit claustrophobic in others. I’ve been stuck in conversations I can’t escape, when I can see another door beckoning to me, just over that person’s shoulder. I’ve been locked in rooms and not been able to find a key.
I love this metaphor, can you tell?
This weekend, after feeling really down in the dumps, I decided perhaps I needed to re-evaluate some of the doors I have opened.
Turns out one of those doors was actually a real one.
I wasn’t made for suburbia, we have been fighting each other for years. It got slightly easier when both kids hit school age, my world seemed to expand enough to lift the feeling that there had to be more to life than playgroups and a homogenised high street. But it is more than feeling the boundaries of suburbs, I have had the urge to live in the country for years. Life is too short to spend time in the wrong place. Suddenly, chatting over a pizza with my 8 year old, it hit me that, far from uprooting her, maybe she would actually be happier there too.
We have a lovely home, but somewhere along the line we gave up on it. It lured me, with familiarity, it is the same number as a house I grew up in, a similar layout. It’s shape too is familiar; arriving from London we were staggered to find a whole Victorian proportioned house, rather than the awkwardly converted middle floor flat of a similar building we’d called home in London, for the same money I might add, before it.
It wowed us, but we never conquered it.
It says a lot that I have more inclination to do it up to sell, than to do it up for us to live in. A lot has happened here, some really sad and difficult stuff, we’ve moved on I think, we’ve grieved, we’ve struggled, we’ve changed, we’re good now, but the house still feels like us back then.
Blogging was another accidental door I opened, that led to a whole corridor of exciting doors. More and more often, I find it hard to shut the door and go back through the door marked offline and to be completely present offline. I wonder what I am teaching our kids about life.
So online and offline, I’m not sure I am in the right rooms. This much I have worked out this dull November weekend.
On a brighter note. I opened the door to running again recently and that feels like a path I was meant to tread.
I often wonder if I should consult someone about the doors I am opening, decision making is such a drain on energy isn’t it? I read an article in Red magazine about women who use psychic readings to make decisions, just as you would a life coach. It really would be amazing to be able to see through doors, just a little bit into the future wouldn’t it? Right now, I like the idea of a new home as a new start and a chance to leave some old habits behind.