This week has been the best in Sydney so far. Between friends visiting from Oxford, talking about neuroscience, philosophy, music, and what life’s like now, I feel I am finally getting it. I am at peace with moving away and leaving my other homes behind. I am ready to commit to this new place.
I am leaving him behind because what else is there left to do. And maybe it’s just the right time to think about that part of my life again. Not the moments that make me feel less alone, but rather the sustained anticipation of feeling like myself next to someone else. And I didn’t even have to go to one of those extravagant meet ups for uprooted expats.
I take the past for what it is and let it slide into pieces like a collage made to be presented and shared. The more memories I gain and the more remote they become, the more I am thinking of Proust and his observation how memories do not remain static but rather change with us. I choose to remember the parts that make me into who I am today, even if those parts bring up a deep love I still feel. It’s not about putting one foot in front of the other. Rather, it’s about making the decision to start walking. And I’m finally getting that.