Going Deep

Settling, I have the urge to nest.  To be still and snuggle into one place, one house, one area, to delve deep to get to know it well and all its perfections and imperfections.  To not run into hiding when the imperfections become larger than life in my own mind.  I have the desire to dig in my heels and stay put.  Build a life, a structure, a story line that's not broken and jagged by the continued address changes and changes of heart.  A continual long line that flows smoothly, peppered by love and comforts and family and friends.  Sprinkled with yoga connections and love.  I yearn to be enlightened by the wisdom that comes only from the deep dive; only from the examination of staying still, of looking in and down and up and all around.  Looking anywhere and everywhere except to get out.

I like to run and to hide when things get tough or go on for too long.  To avoid and to only skim the beautific surface of things.  People, places, myself.  It is nicer there - just swimming on the surface of the ocean, the sun still sparkles through and you can look up to see the blue of the sky.  But it's deeper into the water that the true mysteries start to unfold.  Where you get to see coral and fish and seaweed and sand and all the down deep bits of magic that aren't revealed to those who skate along the surface.  

I've always felt trepidation about snorkelling and diving...going down for brief periods and then complaining about my mask fogging or my flippers being too loose.  Those are the excuses I use.  Deep diving isn't meant to always be comfortable, it's not always meant to feel nice...it's an exploration.  When you really start to look, you see all the colours of the fish and the coral.  You hear said fish munching on the plants and the gentle swaying of the seaweed in the waves.  However, you also will probably see a fish eat another fish, or a fish taking a dump, or you might notice the degradation of the coral by human hands.  These aren't the pretty facts but they are the facts.  The harsh reality is settled in there alongside the beauty.

I want to know the truth of a place, the truth of a person, of a home, of a house.  The creaking floorboards at night, the dust that's collected under the fridge.  In the past 12 years of my life as an independent adult, I've moved at least once every 2 years (often way more frequently than that).  Never staying long enough to ever have to deal with the mould in the bathroom or the scum on the tiles or cleaning the grim off the windows.  I just moved on and left the dirt behind.  Moved onto some place that was pre-cleaned for my moving in, whose mysteries and idiosyncrasies I hadn't yet discovered because all I could see was the shinning surface. The pretty lacquered apartment of the listing photos and of the open house in all it's perfected set-up.

What would happen if I stayed?  If I stayed through the basement flooding, through the leaking fridge, through the cold winters and the spring cleans and the sunny days in between.  If I stuck around and had to manage the dirt but also had to create the memories and build up the stuff?  In the past 3+ years of living in Sydney (as an ex-pat) I've never owned more than a few suitcases worth of stuff.  When it accumulates to more than that, I frantically sell and donate it, to offload the baggage.  If I'm too heavy and burdened down with stuff I can't move on at the drop of a hat.

The other weekend, I moved (yet again, for the 6th time in 1 and a half years), out of a temporary accommodation and into a less temporary apartment with a good friend.  It took me half a day, I filled up all my suitcases, loaded them into a borrowed SUV and by the end of the day, I was fully unpacked and settled into my new flat.  I did it alone, with no one's help.  If I had too much stuff, I would need help.  I would need a U-Haul, I would have to hire some men or enlist some friends and I would have to prepare for weeks.  This way, less stuff, less burden, I am light and transportable.

I am also missing out on the deep dive.

In order to dive deep, I must stay still, stay put, through the difficult times and the good ones. I have to be fearless, as does anyone who cares to dive deep with me.  I have to step boldly into the waters.  I have to stand strong in the event that everything, inevitably, falls apart and I have to stay to help pick up the pieces.  I can no longer be scared of the late nights, of the vulnerability of the soul and the beautiful fragility of the heart.