The house has been empty for a while. More than just days…more like weeks, months.
When you enter the home, you are struck by the intermingling of cold and the musty odor. It gives the air a tangible quality you must push through as you enter so it doesn’t force you back onto the porch. It seems colder than outside as cold has sunk into every corner and cranny. The brief wafting of fresh air into the house as you enter dissipates as soon as the front door shuts behind you and the air closes upon itself again. Still, leaden, and unmoving. There is no water and no power. It has been like this a long time: without pulse and without breath. It feels abandoned.
We didn’t anticipate buying a house in this state of un-livability. We knew it was vacant, a foreclosed property in the hands of Fannie Mae. But it hadn’t been on the market long and the house was fully intact when we made the offer. The first piece of bad news came the day Fannie Mae accepted our offer: someone had cut through the screened back porch, broken the glass pane on the back door, gone down into the basement and removed all of the copper plumbing. The second piece came on the day the house closed: someone had entered the same way (turns out the property manager didn’t secure the back door) and had cut all of the lines to the electrical panel and taken part of the furnace.
No water, no power, no heat.
You walk through this cold, musty home and there is no welcoming. No warmth or vibrancy. The day is gray and cold despite it being spring. And the house agrees. No signs of life here. Inertia is beginning to come with a feeling of deja-vu. Back to the hotel and long list of phone calls to find contractors in an unfamiliar city.
Walking through the house, I think, “this must be a glimpse into what it is like returning to your home after a disaster.” Grateful to be home, but not really home. Grateful for plumbing, but not able to shower because there is no hot water. Not able to cook or keep perishables because there is no power. Then the power is on, but there is still no heat. The unseasonably cold spring is more salient to you as you put on another sweater and sleep under every blanket with socks on. Seems like it takes an hour for the bed to warm up. It is too cold to unpack and too cold to clean. You drift from room to room rubbing your hands like a distraught ghost, haunting your own house.
Then the day comes that there is water, hot water, power and heat all together.
The house begins to hum, only you hear a symphony.
Based on my numerous conversations with people prior to moving halfway across the country, it appears that the degree to which people comfortably assimilate notions of change is deeply influenced by the magnitude of movement embedded in that change. It is as though there is a “movement spectrum of magnitude” and the extent to which you can easily grasp and accept the need, or even simply the desire, to move (or change) depends on where and how broad a band of this spectrum your own personal comfort range covers.
At one end of this spectrum there is spontaneous, intuitive movement, action based on instinct and motivated by emotion, catalyzed by the collision of outer circumstance and one’s inner landscape. Perception plus emotion equals movement. And the potential for dramatic movement is inherent in this dynamic. At the opposite end of the spectrum is strategic movement, action based on analysis and motivated by perceived benefit, with all the competing stakeholders being taken into consideration. Reason plus justification equals movement. The potential here is for increasingly incremental movement as competing interests, complicated histories, and oftentimes simple inertia create narrow constraints in which to act.
Where any of us falls on this spectrum is an intersection of numerous variables: personality, age, life experience, and so on. But I think we can all agree on a recognizable pattern of starting at the end of intuition and impulse in our youth and gradually drifting down the spectrum to the responsible realm of planned, thought out, and carefully considered movement and change.
While I love the neat and clear dichotomy of this logical construct, I find myself asking the question, how can strategic thinking paradoxically result in dramatic and spontaneous change? How can perceptual observations colored by emotional reactions insinuate themselves into the methodical planning process and drive a revision of strategy, perhaps even altering it dramatically through immediate and significant change? Perhaps instead of being at two opposing ends of a spectrum, these seeming opposites actually sit side by side and continuously influence one another through this contiguous proximity?
After answering repeated variations of the same questions people had regarding my decision to move (nearly all of them beginning with the word “why”), I started joking that I should have put together a PowerPoint presentation which would present a logical construct and progression of ideas that eventually led to the decision to move. Perhaps something with some flowchart diagrams and a cost/benefit analysis. And while there is a logical narrative of sorts behind my choice to move, the actual experience of moving has proven to be more complex and full of serendipitous events than such summarized version could explain. And not only would the above questions remain unanswered, but other questions around how do we justify why we move, how we move, when we choose to trigger a move, and where we move to would also be left unexamined. There is no good twenty word or less explanation…at least not for me.