The destination is not important. It is the journey. I repeat these words to myself a million times. Maybe more. I fall asleep thinking and repeating these words. I seek strength between the t’s and a’s. I doze off thinking of family trips, entertaining friends, winter clothes and street food.

Move 3 has been hard before it even starts. It is dragging its feet. Shuffling along the corridors of time, merrily enjoying the time zone differences and I am losing my peace. I am usually not so stressed out. I can handle move related stress decently well but Move 3 reminds me of my own shortcomings. I just need regular shots of patience.

The winds of change blow – hot and cold. East and West. They promise change, whisper secrets. I cling to the secrets. I dream. I plan. Then the winds blow again. In the opposite direction. I scrape my plans and dreams. I create  new plans and wait for the winds to blow yet again. The cycle seems to keep me on the verge of sanity.

The past month and a half has been this wave of uncertainty. I ride high at times and then I hit the bottom. I struggle. I re-surface. I float aimlessly till another wave grabs hold of me. I surge. I feel at the top only to be let down again.

I am ready for it to be over. I want to be able to plan, dream, pack and move. I want to tell everyone about Move 3 and share my joy. I am so ready for Move 3 to become real. I will wait. Another day, a week or as long as it takes. I will cross my fingers and toes too. I will crib to those selected few who listen and indulge. I will binge on chocolate (and whine). I will hit the gym with a vengeance to shake the doubts lingering within me. I will splurge and shop.

Move 3 drags its feet and I tag along.

And the sunsets in Gladstone. A new beginning awaits