Sometimes, despite all your longing and preparations, plans simply need to change. This can be a grief-stricken process, or an empowering one – depending entirely on your willingness to accept what is and let go of what isn’t.
We’ve recently had to change some big plans. Our long-awaited, anticipated, yearned for trip to the UK has had to be postponed until next year. With Nick’s business being in the situation is currently is (read this post for background), it not only wasn’t really possible (a bankrupt person cannot leave the country without permission from their case manager and, with everything due to come to a head at the same time we were due to depart, it would be irresponsible on our part – to say the least! – to just go ahead and travel as planned), but it also didn’t feel right.
As much as I long to travel back to my native home – to the place where so much of me belongs – and despite how hard we have worked to make this journey happen (all we had left to do was pack!) – it just didn’t feel right to go, even if Nick would have been granted the permission to leave. And I didn’t want to go like this, with so much up in the air, with so much to contend with when we return. I wanted to go with a sense of freedom, of watching the clouds part, and recognising those old, familiar roads stretching out before me – literally as well as metaphorically.
So we spent a couple of days in a vacuum, talking late into the night each evening – once the kids were in bed and Nick was switched off from business matters – talking through our options, our hopes, our intentions, and reaching a point where we knew, unequivocally, what to do.
And then slowly – letting things sink in at first – I began the process of cancelling, undoing, rearranging, and changing plans. Like the erasing of hard pressed pencil lines with a rubber, slowly fading away, but still visible if you focus for long enough… the itineraries, the bucket lists, the mapped out routes and carefully selected abodes. The loved ones waiting to see us. The reclaiming of a childhood and young adulthood asked to wait patiently a little longer. The tickets to LEGOland we purchased with the sale of the children’s baby items. The turning of a page caught halfway. The big plans and the little ones, and the ones with a meaning far deeper than can be expressed, or even understood by someone who has only ever had one land they call home.
But despite the aching, it was the absolute best thing to have done. Indeed it felt like the most empowering decision to have made – to honour us, and to be here. For the first time in all of the years I have lived in New Zealand, I felt the pull of a root, gently burrowing it’s way beneath the surface and taking hold.
What matters is us, what’s important is being here. We have a place here, and a purpose, and things to take care of. And our trip will be a light, calling us from afar, reminding me that we are more than this, too.
So here’s to change – as it is yet to unfold – to new beginnings, new opportunities, and new perspectives.
This is a time for us to ground, and realign with our hearts values.
This isn’t a loss or a breaking. This is a reclamation.