The things I want to do are stuck until one little thing occurs.
Shedding a life took three years.
It was mostly physical; documenting my job at work, preparing the house to sell, gifting, selling, donating everything. Whittling away until my life was constrained to four duffles, three boxes, and a crate of art.
The goal was clear, steps toward achieving my goal were attainable.
It was late March when I retired, early June when I drove cross country, and late July when I crossed the ocean. It was summer. The world was bright, a stunning white-hot.
Unmooring took weeks. It was mostly psychological: depending on others, the impatience of waiting, the inability to take action. Limbo gave me too much time to sit with my own thoughts and the a lack of purpose except to “wake eat, sleep, repeat” overwhelmed.
December, January, February, dark skies, cold, rain. Winter drags on as I drift without control.
