Long time, no talk

So Kelly informs me that it's been far too long since I've written. (She also would like to point out that The Monkey House has been rather lax with its updates, hint hint.)

So I figured I'd take a break from the packing and let my faithful readers in on what's the haps.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm moving. It's an exciting time, and an opportunity too good to pass up. My sister Pat, God love her, has opened her home to me for a few years. (Yes, I said years.) I'm not foolish enough to think it will be easy, but I think it will be a learning, growing experience for each of us. Plus - and here's the part where I'm overwhelmed by her generosity - not having to pay rent for two years will allow me to save for a downpayment on a condo. In two years, I hope to be able to take the plunge. (In the meanwhile, she and I will be writing a blog together. Once that's off the ground, I promise to link ya!)

And for the moment, it's a great time that's laced with melancholy. This town - Arlington Heights - has been good for me. I stood on my own two feet in this place. I proved to myself that I could be independent in this place, and I think that's the only reason I'm able to allow someone to help me now - because I've made it work, I can allow myself to take a step back.

It means I will, eventually, be able to take a step forward.

Today I ran a 5K here in town, and it was so happysad. Happy, because this place is sorta magical in the way it loves its residents and its runners. And sad, because this is my final race through town as a resident ... at least for now. I'd be lying if I said that I won't consider moving back here at some future time.

Living here, I really got to know myself. I learned to listen to my gut. I learned to venture forth and build relationships that I am certain will stand the test of geographic distance. I learned how to heal myself, and how to let others help. Here, in this place, I became an athlete. I became confident (mostly). I bought the car of my dreams, four pairs of running shoes (not at the same time) and a pair of jeans in a size I hadn't seen since college.

What's next is unknown, and it scares me. Here, I'm comfortable. I have my hard-earned independence, and I'd be lying if I said I weren't afraid that what I'm actually doing is giving up instead of moving forward. That's why it's all the more important to me that I'm able to make it work. Or, rather, that it simply works on it's own; that it doesn't feel like work, but the natural flow of things. I know it will take work to save the money (because I really love shoes and airline tickets) but I believe, for the first time in a long time, that while I cannot have it all ... I can have all the truly important things.

So, here I am, preparing to say goodbye to a life I've built from scratch. Or, rather, transplant that life to a new home base.

Don't be a stranger, eh?