Tonight it really hit me. . .I'm leaving this place--this very safe place, where I have finally created a happy life for myself. In six weeks or so, I won't live here any more. I'm not leaving for a week or a month or a year. . .I may not live here again for decades. I may decide not to ever live here again (but I can't quite even contemplate that, frankly).
It all came raining down on me as I was stopping to pick up dinner for T. I stopped at a place that's near our house. I haven't been there in a few years, but noticed recently that they were open late, and seemed to sell take-out. It used to be just an ice cream place, and I didn't particularly like their ice cream the last time I stopped by (and seriously, how do you screw up ice cream?). Inside this time, I discovered they had a decent selection of dinner items and reasonable prices to boot. I picked up a wrap for T., and as I pulled away, I was mulling over all of the things I could remember the building housing over the years. . .a convenience store for the longest time, a few other unmemorable things, the ice cream place. . .and I realized that I have such history here.
As much as I want this new job, as much as I'm excited for it, I am also giving something up to get this other thing I want. I can't have both. I am giving up family holidays and birthdays and and endless parade of people who are willing to come and sit with Miss M. for an hour while I do errands. That is scary, and it is sad, and it makes me second guess myself. We are really going to be on our own.
I know it will be fine. I know that this is a good choice for us. But in these quiet moments before I go to bed, I am feeling a little overwhelmed.