It’s been a few months since I confessed to being restless, to being ready for a change, to being tired of feeling stagnant and dry and, quite frankly, bored. I posited that it was on my mind to make a move. To change my scenery. And while at the time it was little more than a wish or a dream, in the intervening months it became one that I have been having so repeatedly that I finally started listening to my heart.
The long and the short of it is, I’m moving. After nearly 14 years in Sydney I’m packing up my things and heading south of the border to Victoria, to Melbourne.
I have been loving Melbourne for two years, ever since I drove down there with a friend to move her back to her home state. I’ve been visiting her and a succession of friends who’ve moved there or whom I’ve met in those regular visits and every time I drive in along the Hume Highway, or fly in and catch a glimpse of the city, my heart skips a beat with the possibility of being there. So I’ve decided to listen to that skipping beat, to that whisper of excitement and I’m just going to do it.
I’m excited, I plan to be leaving NSW at the end of October, or early in November, I’ve already culled my wardrobe of clothing I don’t wear and books I won’t want to take, I’m loving, so much, the feeling of shedding the weight of STUFF that’s not necessary to take with me and is cluttering (mostly) my office, and I am BEYOND excited that a new city, new experiences, new friends and a new environment will almost certainly breathe new life into this dusty old blog.
Let alone, new life into a dusty old me.