So…it’s been a while since I’ve blogged and a lot has changed in that time. As I’ve been planning for in the last few months, I’ve finally moved to London and the experience has been scary, exciting, exhilarating, and nerve-wracking all at the same time. It’s hard to fully grasp what I mean until you have to go through it yourself, which is what I had been struggling with up until the end of September when it was time to board a plane (alone, for the first time) and move myself to a different country that I had never been to before. Luckily, my boyfriend had already established himself here for the 6 months before I arrived so I didn’t have to do much of the heavy lifting on my own—an apartment was already found and all the other technical details of moving had already been sorted. However, despite how terrifying the experience was and how long I had been ruminating over whether or not I actually wanted to go through with it, I’ve found that I’m acclimating quite well to living in London and that is the most shocking aspect of all.
I have never been good with change; it scares me down to my core. I try my best to avoid change at all costs (a skill acquired from my mother) to the point where I will have nuzzled myself into a comfortable routine where I feel safe and secure. Except that I don’t actually feel secure; I feel very insecure because I know that I am not changing or becoming the person I want to be. The person I desire to inhabit lies somewhere past the threshold of fear and indecisiveness and owns her own space confidently. Change, for me, is the barrier I always need to cross in order to move even the slightest bit closer to this elusive and ethereal version of myself. And most of the time I can’t muster the courage to actually do it unless it’s completely unavoidable.
Change has become a term that evokes the notion of never standing still whereas I innately love to stand still and experience the small moments of splendour that lie between moments of action. I need to distance myself and escape into a space where I am utterly alone and separate from time in order to recognize where it is I want to be when it comes time to start moving again. I’ve only recently realized that change and resistance go hand in hand—one cannot truly exist without the other. Change only happens when resistance folds and gives way to a metamorphosis, and resistance is only evident in the presence of change. This realization has made the experience of moving into a new life while still trying to maintain who I am a bit more comforting. It has shown me that I don’t have to shed myself completely in order to welcome change, but also that the discomfort of change will push me into a more comfortable version of myself.
It is now just a matter of recognizing how much of each offers the best balance for discovering where it is I want to end up once my feet hit the ground running.