The Husband and I are in waiting mode. Certainly, it isn’t as if I have hours on my hands to spend sitting around waiting or fretting. I have errands to run and all those pesky household chores—nowadays “company”, meaning prospects to buy our house, might pop up at any time (I can’t remember ever doing this much housework). There are meetings, Open Houses, boxes being delivered to Bear Valley, and endless forms to complete. I am having a wonderful time experimenting with camera and lenses as well as working out software issues I will need to produce the “evidence” that I complete a photo book within the time allowed. I am seeking a balance between packing things I will need at the last minute and leaving too much to pack until the last minute. We have even found time recently for some socializing.
Still, the overall mode is waiting. Waiting to see if any of the offers on our house will result in a final sale, waiting to see if more offers are made, waiting to move, waiting to fully engage in the SoFoBoMo project, waiting to move and begin this big life-adventure as a yikes—a retiree, shudder—some days that seems a dreadful mistake, others an enormous relief. When I meet strangers now, I am not so comfortable when the conversation turns, inevitably, to “What do you do?” After all, for decades, I had an answer and it didn’t fluctuate. Suddenly, the old answer doesn’t apply. To complicate matters, even “where do you live” triggers a bit of disorientation. We are headed there, but most of our things are still here. We still are not able to say that we are even in the process of moving. The answer to both questions could be, “Can I get back to you on that?”
Waiting isn’t a painful state or a negative one in any way. It’s just an unfamiliar one for me. I have been so busy going and doing for years that waiting is requiring some adjustments. It’s a good time for reflection and evaluation—a time for gathering thoughts and storing ideas for future projects.