Mooving

Do you move the furniture? When I was younger (and stronger) I used to love rearranging the furniture and I did it often. Ben would come in from work and stand in the doorway looking around the room before he took another step. If it was after dark, I always made sure to leave a light on so he wouldn't Dick-van-Dyke over a hassock. If you're older than 60, you get that.

I realized the other day that I haven't moved the furniture in quite a few years and the only reason I can think of is that it's just too much work, and don't I have enough to do? But when we move into our new house, it will be all rearranging, so maybe that will provide enough of a fix to last me the rest of my life. One can hope.

But while I haven't been moving physical furniture, I have definitely been playing around with mental belongings. I start a thing, then a year later change my mind about it. It's like I realize the thing is not serving the purpose I intended it to serve, or it's not working the way I want it to, so I feel the need to change it. The whole process is full of angst and hand-wringing and even some sleeplessness. I jump from idea to decision fatigue in about half a second. It’s one of the joys of being an enneagram 9.

I never used to be this way. I hated change of any kind. And honestly I still hate change when somebody else is pushing me into it, like when Ben kept telling me this morning I needed to eat breakfast because I was feeling weak and shaky which is a sure sign of low blood sugar for me, but now that you've suggested breakfast I just can't. Sorry. But if it's my idea? Well let's have it! Sausage and french toast, coming up!

So here I am, undergoing another change of writing venues. But at least it’s a decision made, right? I have to count my wins where I can.

You might remember (it's okay if you don't—I'm here to harp on past difficulties) a little over a year ago when my former blog, Beyond Momlife, suddenly disappeared from the Internet. Poof, gone. Just like that. It was a series of either unsent or missed emails, a season of busyness that prohibited writing for six weeks or so, and a lack of communication that led to its disappearance into the ether.

(In reality, I feel like the webhost was 100% responsible for what happened, but we 9s just keep our anger inside and slowly seethe. It's fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine.)

I mourned (pouted) for a few months and refused to write, but eventually I knew I had to have a place to share thoughts, so I started a new blog, Grace & Therapy, and it's been okay. But I still have trust issues with my former host that I may not ever fully get over, and honestly, for a 61-year-old, I want something simple, something I don't have to think about. I don’t want to have to figure out why a link is not in a different color font and plugins and metablah and site health (this is an actual setting what on earth). There's only so much bandwidth left in my brain, and dealing with technical issues isn't where I want it to go.

So there's a little moving of furniture going on and I’m not sad about it. You can enter your email address to be notified whenever I add a post—like a letter delivered right to your inbox! I promise I will never spam you and will care for your email address like I would my own children.

Sid says to stick around. It will be fun!