After a considerable break, I am returning to the HSP Notes blog.
I recently moved across the country, from Texas to Washington state. With all that a major move entails-- especially for an HSP-- both my bandwidth and inclination to post updates here were somewhat limited. Besides, I did not have particularly good Internet connectivity during the past few months. "Wireless Internet" is not all it is cracked up to be, especially when you live "At The End Of The World," as I do now.
Over the next few weeks, I am going to add some "back posts" about the process of moving when you're an HSP, along with the challenges and feelings of leaving one life behind, and embraching a new one. I say "back posts," because I am merely going to copy some of the most relevant journal musings from my journal, to this blog, with the dates as I wrote them.
Some might say "Why bother?"
And it's a valid question. The heart of the answer lies in the many HSPs I have gotten to personally know over the past decade, and in knowing how many dream of making "a major life change," yet are fearful of doing so because they have so little sense for what is actually entailed in the process of completely changing one's paradigm. Whether it is "altruistic" or "self-centered" of me, I feel that if sharing this experience helps even one HSP make a major life change for the better, then it is worth my while.
Stay tuned.
Showing posts with label move. Show all posts
Showing posts with label move. Show all posts
Monday, February 05, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Feeling exhausted
I promise this will be the last post about my move, because I feel sure everyone is sick to death of hearing about it.
I have been exhausted, on a very deep level.
I came to the conclusion, a few days ago, that once the moving process ended and I was sleeping in a regular bed, in a real house... I pretty much died. A move like the one I just completed is a bit like running a marathon.
Running a marathon takes an extraordinary amount of training and preparation, ahead of time. In a sense, this is very similar to a major life-changing move. Then there is the race, itself. It's both tiring, and exciting, at the same time. At the end, you feel exhausted, but for a while you continue running on "residual adrenaline." Many marathon runners will rest for a few days after a race, and then "pretty much feel OK." So it was with me, once all the stuff had been unpacked, and I got settled in.
But there's a reason why marathn runners only run a few races a year. After a few days, a sort of "deep exhaustion" sets in... a long-term lethargy, as the body works to recover from a period of extreme effort and stress.
All told, I probably spent two years packing, reducing, downsizing, renovating the house, selling the house and a variety of other tasks before actually physically moving. All these things, while also going through the "normal" parts of life, like working to fund all the associated expenses. Then followed six weeks of frantic activity. Sure, it felt good to get settled in... but I found myself being happy, but completely lacking motivation. I basically found that I just wanted to sit and relax. A "busy day" was going to the grocery and walking on the beach.
As I write these words, I am slowly coming to life again. I have been "gone" for about three months... in a sense, that's how much the move "took out of me." Fortunately for me, I have been able to afford myself the relative luxury of being able to take the time to recover. I realize that not everyone can do such a thing.
Elaine Aron, in The Highly Sensitive Person, writes about how HSPs tend to have "in" periods and "out" periods. I realize now that I had been "out" non-stop for almost 24 months, so the three month "in" period was long overdue.
I have been exhausted, on a very deep level.
I came to the conclusion, a few days ago, that once the moving process ended and I was sleeping in a regular bed, in a real house... I pretty much died. A move like the one I just completed is a bit like running a marathon.
Running a marathon takes an extraordinary amount of training and preparation, ahead of time. In a sense, this is very similar to a major life-changing move. Then there is the race, itself. It's both tiring, and exciting, at the same time. At the end, you feel exhausted, but for a while you continue running on "residual adrenaline." Many marathon runners will rest for a few days after a race, and then "pretty much feel OK." So it was with me, once all the stuff had been unpacked, and I got settled in.
But there's a reason why marathn runners only run a few races a year. After a few days, a sort of "deep exhaustion" sets in... a long-term lethargy, as the body works to recover from a period of extreme effort and stress.
All told, I probably spent two years packing, reducing, downsizing, renovating the house, selling the house and a variety of other tasks before actually physically moving. All these things, while also going through the "normal" parts of life, like working to fund all the associated expenses. Then followed six weeks of frantic activity. Sure, it felt good to get settled in... but I found myself being happy, but completely lacking motivation. I basically found that I just wanted to sit and relax. A "busy day" was going to the grocery and walking on the beach.
As I write these words, I am slowly coming to life again. I have been "gone" for about three months... in a sense, that's how much the move "took out of me." Fortunately for me, I have been able to afford myself the relative luxury of being able to take the time to recover. I realize that not everyone can do such a thing.
Elaine Aron, in The Highly Sensitive Person, writes about how HSPs tend to have "in" periods and "out" periods. I realize now that I had been "out" non-stop for almost 24 months, so the three month "in" period was long overdue.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
After the move: "Post Game Analysis."
It used to be that I'd write "I'm moving."
Now I can finally write "I have moved."
It has been surprising to me how many people have been following this process of mine-- I never really expected that "one guy's musings" about moving from Texas to Washington would make for "interesting reading," but the impression I have gotten is that my process... in some strange way... has served as a window into a process many other HSPs have been contemplating for themselves, yet have avoided.
I often wonder how frequently we HSPs avoid reaching for the things we truly want, fenced in by the fear that the pain of "HSP overstimulation" will be greater than the benefit we will derive from the outcome of pursuing our dreams. I have met 100s of HSPs over the past decade, and one thing I have grown certain of is that we are DREAMERS. And yet...
... only a few of us ever progress from "dreaming" to "acting." As much as we may be dreamers, we also seem to have an extraordinary aptitude for making excuses. We can talk ourselves out of almost anything. Sometimes it almost feels like we grow a mild "addiction" to "being stuck and complaining," and carefully maintaining a state of disgruntlement.
In my current state of "having moved," I realize that I no longer speak of making a radical life change from the perspective of "theory." I speak from the perspective of "having done it."
And what I want to share with all HSPs out there, who are contemplating a major change in their lives is simply this: It is worth it!
Now I can finally write "I have moved."
It has been surprising to me how many people have been following this process of mine-- I never really expected that "one guy's musings" about moving from Texas to Washington would make for "interesting reading," but the impression I have gotten is that my process... in some strange way... has served as a window into a process many other HSPs have been contemplating for themselves, yet have avoided.
I often wonder how frequently we HSPs avoid reaching for the things we truly want, fenced in by the fear that the pain of "HSP overstimulation" will be greater than the benefit we will derive from the outcome of pursuing our dreams. I have met 100s of HSPs over the past decade, and one thing I have grown certain of is that we are DREAMERS. And yet...
... only a few of us ever progress from "dreaming" to "acting." As much as we may be dreamers, we also seem to have an extraordinary aptitude for making excuses. We can talk ourselves out of almost anything. Sometimes it almost feels like we grow a mild "addiction" to "being stuck and complaining," and carefully maintaining a state of disgruntlement.
In my current state of "having moved," I realize that I no longer speak of making a radical life change from the perspective of "theory." I speak from the perspective of "having done it."
And what I want to share with all HSPs out there, who are contemplating a major change in their lives is simply this: It is worth it!
Monday, November 06, 2006
Moving: A Place to Live, At Last
I have been living as a "nomad" from mid-September, and now I finally find myself in some form of permanent housing. Permanent, that is, to the degree that rented property is ever "permanent."
It is November 6th, which means I have been living like a vagabond for six weeks.
I suppose many HSPs would say that it would just be "too stressful" to do something like that. And I can totally appreciate those feelings. However, the flipside to the equation is that there is a tremendous sense of freedom that comes with not being tied down to something. I realize that such a feeling may be personal to me, because I have lived for so long with this sense that my life, and everything IN it was somehow like an anchor that was bogging down my soul and spirit.
The nomadic life of the past six weeks made me very aware of how we used "time points" to define our lives. I realized that I was living with this idea that "my new life" couldn't officially start until I was in a real house.
On some level, that doesn't make sense... because what would that make the past six weeks? Non-life?
Sometimes I worry about the way people use time as a "limiting factor." We operate with these beliefs that "something" has to happen before "something else" can begin. I'm not denying that there are occasions when such thinking is the truth-- for example, we have to have the money for the down payment before we can buy a new car. However, sometimes we create "artificial barriers" to doing what we really want. As a simplistic metaphor, think about the way people sometimes say "well, I can't get started on writing my novel until my desk is all tidied up, and all my computer notes are organized."
Most often, such statements do not represent the "truth," but rather a "story" we are telling ourselves to mask some deeper reluctance to embark in a new direction.
Pause, for a moment, to think about where you erect barriers in your own life... barriers that don't really make sense, once you sit and examine them.
Sometimes-- as Larry the Cable Guy would say-- the only thing we should focus on is "Git 'r done!"
It is November 6th, which means I have been living like a vagabond for six weeks.
I suppose many HSPs would say that it would just be "too stressful" to do something like that. And I can totally appreciate those feelings. However, the flipside to the equation is that there is a tremendous sense of freedom that comes with not being tied down to something. I realize that such a feeling may be personal to me, because I have lived for so long with this sense that my life, and everything IN it was somehow like an anchor that was bogging down my soul and spirit.
The nomadic life of the past six weeks made me very aware of how we used "time points" to define our lives. I realized that I was living with this idea that "my new life" couldn't officially start until I was in a real house.
On some level, that doesn't make sense... because what would that make the past six weeks? Non-life?
Sometimes I worry about the way people use time as a "limiting factor." We operate with these beliefs that "something" has to happen before "something else" can begin. I'm not denying that there are occasions when such thinking is the truth-- for example, we have to have the money for the down payment before we can buy a new car. However, sometimes we create "artificial barriers" to doing what we really want. As a simplistic metaphor, think about the way people sometimes say "well, I can't get started on writing my novel until my desk is all tidied up, and all my computer notes are organized."
Most often, such statements do not represent the "truth," but rather a "story" we are telling ourselves to mask some deeper reluctance to embark in a new direction.
Pause, for a moment, to think about where you erect barriers in your own life... barriers that don't really make sense, once you sit and examine them.
Sometimes-- as Larry the Cable Guy would say-- the only thing we should focus on is "Git 'r done!"
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Moving: The Perils of Non-planning
Not all plans are well-made.
This move was very well-planned, for the most part. Pretty much everything unfolded as it was meant to-- and I'd have to say that things have gone smoothly, as major moves go. And I have been part of quite a few major moves.
The part of the move that was not planned was the "what happens at the other end" part. That part was pretty much limited to a combination of "looking around and finding something, once there," and my deep-rooted belief that "The Universe Takes Care of it's Own." It's an approach that has worked for me most of my life, but not one I would recommend for most people, especially those who get nervous at the idea of not "being in control."
So I am sitting here, pondering whether it was a stupid move to come to a place with no greater plan than to just "look around and find something" in a new part of the country.
After some driving around (currently living in a school bus-converted-to-RV, and staying at state parks), I am now writing this from the small historic hamlet of Port Townsend, WA.
On some strange level, I have felt "drawn" to this town, for many years. On a similarly strange level, I find myself here, more or less purely based on a huge intuitive leap of faith. Based on a sense of "knowing" that I should be here, no more.
And, as it seems to be turning out, this hunch has been right on the money.
HSPs tend to be deeply intuitive people. Most HSPs tested by the Myers-Briggs sorter turn out to have preferences for the iNtuiting fucntion. I myself am an INFJ. Many of my HSP friends are INFJs and INFPs-- even though these types are quite rare, in the general population.
Some years ago, I attended one of the annual HSP Gatherings in California. One of the workshops offered was about intuition, and working with intuition. I think we often forget that our intuition is right, most of the time. Whereas we want to intuit our way to something, we tend to fall back on the "scientific method" used by greater society.
Sometimes you just have to listen to the little voice inside.
Because it tends to be right.
This move was very well-planned, for the most part. Pretty much everything unfolded as it was meant to-- and I'd have to say that things have gone smoothly, as major moves go. And I have been part of quite a few major moves.
The part of the move that was not planned was the "what happens at the other end" part. That part was pretty much limited to a combination of "looking around and finding something, once there," and my deep-rooted belief that "The Universe Takes Care of it's Own." It's an approach that has worked for me most of my life, but not one I would recommend for most people, especially those who get nervous at the idea of not "being in control."
So I am sitting here, pondering whether it was a stupid move to come to a place with no greater plan than to just "look around and find something" in a new part of the country.
After some driving around (currently living in a school bus-converted-to-RV, and staying at state parks), I am now writing this from the small historic hamlet of Port Townsend, WA.
On some strange level, I have felt "drawn" to this town, for many years. On a similarly strange level, I find myself here, more or less purely based on a huge intuitive leap of faith. Based on a sense of "knowing" that I should be here, no more.
And, as it seems to be turning out, this hunch has been right on the money.
HSPs tend to be deeply intuitive people. Most HSPs tested by the Myers-Briggs sorter turn out to have preferences for the iNtuiting fucntion. I myself am an INFJ. Many of my HSP friends are INFJs and INFPs-- even though these types are quite rare, in the general population.
Some years ago, I attended one of the annual HSP Gatherings in California. One of the workshops offered was about intuition, and working with intuition. I think we often forget that our intuition is right, most of the time. Whereas we want to intuit our way to something, we tend to fall back on the "scientific method" used by greater society.
Sometimes you just have to listen to the little voice inside.
Because it tends to be right.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Moving: More Notes From The Road
I am sitting in Eastern Oregon, having travelled 2000 miles across the country.
As I look outside, I see mountains, and the air is cool.
The journey to here has been very long, very exhausting, and very "overstimulating," in that way HSPs tend to experience the world. Moving is basically for the birds; moving yourself across the country even moreso.
And yet, I sense the beginnings of a sort of inner peace spreading through my consciousness.
Change is a funny thing. For many HSPs, change means upheaval and disturbance... and yet, change is also something that that can work as an invitation to pursue something better. Most HSPs I have met don't seem to like change very much. Well, maybe that's not entirely true-- they like the effects of change, once it has happened, but dread the overstimulation that often goes with the actual change process. As a result, they often allow themselves to get stuck in situations-- jobs, relationships, locations-- that don't honor their authentic inner needs. Change becomes "too much of a hassle to deal with," and thus is avoided.
Change does take courage, because it often requires us to abandon old ideas and situations that have become familiar to us. Not because they are "right," merely because they are "familiar." With time, we simply get used to the small irritating rock in our shoe... it would be relatively easy to stop and remove the rock, but instead we choose to walk on, telling ourselves that we have learned how to "deal with" our discomfort.
However, sometimes the only right thing to do is stop, and get the rock out of our shoe.
As I look outside, I see mountains, and the air is cool.
The journey to here has been very long, very exhausting, and very "overstimulating," in that way HSPs tend to experience the world. Moving is basically for the birds; moving yourself across the country even moreso.
And yet, I sense the beginnings of a sort of inner peace spreading through my consciousness.
Change is a funny thing. For many HSPs, change means upheaval and disturbance... and yet, change is also something that that can work as an invitation to pursue something better. Most HSPs I have met don't seem to like change very much. Well, maybe that's not entirely true-- they like the effects of change, once it has happened, but dread the overstimulation that often goes with the actual change process. As a result, they often allow themselves to get stuck in situations-- jobs, relationships, locations-- that don't honor their authentic inner needs. Change becomes "too much of a hassle to deal with," and thus is avoided.
Change does take courage, because it often requires us to abandon old ideas and situations that have become familiar to us. Not because they are "right," merely because they are "familiar." With time, we simply get used to the small irritating rock in our shoe... it would be relatively easy to stop and remove the rock, but instead we choose to walk on, telling ourselves that we have learned how to "deal with" our discomfort.
However, sometimes the only right thing to do is stop, and get the rock out of our shoe.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Moving: Feeling Tired (Notes From The Road)
The last few days have gone by in a blur.
I am sitting here, typing this, on my portable computer... inside a school bus that has been converted to an RV (and quite comfortable, at that, not just a "hippie bus"), parked at Brady Lake State Park, no more than 100 miles from what once used to be "my house."
I cannot even begin to explain the amount of work it is-- even with willing friends and neighbors to help-- to pack a 28-foot semi trailer with household goods, in 90-degree Texas late summer heat. I had to keep reminding myself that the trailer self-move was costing $5,000 and the cheapest moving company estimate was $16,000.
A part of me feels slightly guilty about the fact that I am not "missing" what used to be my home. But I am not. I just feel a lot of relief that a large phase of the process is over. I feel relief that I no longer have to worry about a $2,000-a-month mortgage payment, and $700-a-month electric bills to keep myself cool enough that I don't go insane.
(Yes, the bus is airconditioned. It's like an RV. You plug it in, and it becomes like a portable living room.)
Although I don't feel a sense of loss, am occasionally gripped by brief panic feelings along the lines of "What have I DONE???" As I sit here, I realize that a lot of planning and effort went into the process to this point, but much of what lies ahead is open and unknown. Let's face it, I didn't even have an address to give the company in charge of renting out and driving the trailer to the Puget Sound area. That's right, I am moving to a new place without even having a destination. In a sense, that's part of the joy of doing your move with an RV. I highly recommend it. It removes part of the stress of deadlines, finding hotels and worrying about finding housing by specific dates. If I had to do this again (God forbid!) I would definitely rent an RV and tow my car-- it's also great if you are moving with pets; they are less freaked out by having a "house-like" device to travel in.
What I realized, earlier today, is that there has been a subtle change. I am no longer talking about wanting to change my life. I have changed my life.
That's both exciting, and scary.
And for what it's worth, I am not a "High Sensation Seeker" HSP.
I am sitting here, typing this, on my portable computer... inside a school bus that has been converted to an RV (and quite comfortable, at that, not just a "hippie bus"), parked at Brady Lake State Park, no more than 100 miles from what once used to be "my house."
I cannot even begin to explain the amount of work it is-- even with willing friends and neighbors to help-- to pack a 28-foot semi trailer with household goods, in 90-degree Texas late summer heat. I had to keep reminding myself that the trailer self-move was costing $5,000 and the cheapest moving company estimate was $16,000.
A part of me feels slightly guilty about the fact that I am not "missing" what used to be my home. But I am not. I just feel a lot of relief that a large phase of the process is over. I feel relief that I no longer have to worry about a $2,000-a-month mortgage payment, and $700-a-month electric bills to keep myself cool enough that I don't go insane.
(Yes, the bus is airconditioned. It's like an RV. You plug it in, and it becomes like a portable living room.)
Although I don't feel a sense of loss, am occasionally gripped by brief panic feelings along the lines of "What have I DONE???" As I sit here, I realize that a lot of planning and effort went into the process to this point, but much of what lies ahead is open and unknown. Let's face it, I didn't even have an address to give the company in charge of renting out and driving the trailer to the Puget Sound area. That's right, I am moving to a new place without even having a destination. In a sense, that's part of the joy of doing your move with an RV. I highly recommend it. It removes part of the stress of deadlines, finding hotels and worrying about finding housing by specific dates. If I had to do this again (God forbid!) I would definitely rent an RV and tow my car-- it's also great if you are moving with pets; they are less freaked out by having a "house-like" device to travel in.
What I realized, earlier today, is that there has been a subtle change. I am no longer talking about wanting to change my life. I have changed my life.
That's both exciting, and scary.
And for what it's worth, I am not a "High Sensation Seeker" HSP.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Moving: From Beginning to Ending to Beginning...
The room around me is mostly empty; a few packing boxes for "decoration," a desk with a few books and papers, a phone, a computer from where I write this. Actually, I'm writing this from the portable; the regular desktop machine is in a box.
A phase of my life is at the verge of coming to an end. I arrived in Austin on January 9th, 1981. Now I am leaving. Within a couple of days, I will leave this chapter, closing the book on more than a quarter-century of existence.
I have lived in five different residences, while here-- not counting a couple of previous attempts to move away. I started out in a tiny 1940's efficiency apartment that hadn't been updated since the 60's. I didn't really expect to stay, so I never viewed it as much more than a glorified hotel room. It was "furnished," meaning that it had the bare-bones necessities you find in inexpensive living spaces. But it was cheap, and within walking distance of Safeway and the municipal golf course. It had lovely orange shag carpet. It reminded me of the description of "living in digs" sometimes found in English literature.
Once I'd accepted the fact that I was going to "be here for a while," I moved into a new condo project down the same street-- with K, my girlfriend-later-wife. It was a nice space, and not too horribly expensive-- unfortunately, it was bought near the top of the 80's real estate boom in Texas. A few years later, aformentioned wife said "I can't stand living in this little box," so we moved to a house, still within the city-- a "nice" house, in a "nice" neighborhood. Bigger than I would have wanted, smaller than she wanted, more expensive than we could really afford. We lived there for quite a few years, and I stayed on there, even after she moved to Dallas.... but we ended up selling it after she took a job in Oregon, and "the writing was on the wall," as far as the marriage was concerned. I developed a "bad" relationship with real estate-- selling the condo for $30,000 less than the original price, and selling the house for about $15,000 less. Not out of "hardship," or needing to "fire sale," but simply because they had been bought at two market tops and sold near two market bottoms.
After that, I moved into a swank one-bedroom apartment in the booming northwest growth corridor of town-- in many ways, those years were my happiest, as my "load" felt lightest. It was weird. Everyone I knew sympathized with me about "how awful" it must be for me to be living in a 680 square foot apartment rather than a house-- yet, I loved it. I started to become "me," rather than a reflection of someone else. In a sense, it marked a starting point in my awareness (which many HSPs share) that life feels best when it is fairly simple.
Then I met A, and eventually we moved into this house, in 1998. And now, that house has been sold. I am glad to say, for more than it originally cost-- although it feels crazy that in the 20 years I've owned real estate in this otherwise booming Sunbelt city, the general average market price has gone up by 230%, while the properties I have owned (on a net basis) have about allowed me to break even. Adjusting for inflation, I have about 30% of the value I started out with, in current-day-dollars. What once was $100 is now $30.
Interestingly enough, this is also the story of two "migrations." One migration is the journey to myself-- with each subsequent move, I left a little of my cluelessness and "false self" behind, and found a few more nuggets of authenticity. And, with each sequential move, I went from living virtually in the downtown core, to close-in city, to near suburbia, to edge city, to out in the sticks. And there's an odd dichotomy in that-- with each move I got closer to myself, but further away from "being in the world." I have learned (for the second time, actually) that the further I get from a city, the more "disconnected" I feel from the essential energy of the world.
It's an odd thing-- I'm basically a nature nerd, a solitary soul and an HSP introvert, yet I need the energy of the "hive" (city) to help me feel connected to life. But some part of me is aware that maybe I needed to "disconnect," in order to truly get in touch with my introspective self. The process of "finding ourselves," is perhaps more difficult when we are surrounded by too many other voices, telling us what we "should" be. And now, as a more grounded human being, I feel more able to reconnect with the stuff of life.
Of course, there's a third "migration," too. The migration that will take me from the city of Round Rock, TX (basically a northern suburb of Austin) to the city of Port Townsend, WA (roughly across the Puget Sound, northwest of Seattle). Although this migration is happening "now," it actually began in the fall of 1987-- the first time I went on vacation in the Puget Sound area and "felt" something; a sense of "belonging"
It's a very long story which I won't share here (if you care, you can read it here on my web site), but as I sit and write this I have a feeling that I have finally completed my training in "something," and am about to go forth into uncharted territory.
I feel very quiet. There is a great silence in my soul. There's a tiny seed somewhere, "trying" to feel sadness, or loss, at this point of closure. That same tiny seed showed itself when I graduated from college, when I shut down my business, and when I left the courthouse after the final divorce papers were filed. I am vaguely troubled by the fact that these watershed moments only seem to offer a profound sense of relief, not loss, nor sadness or regret. A part of me examines the possibility that I was never "invested" enough in any of these life events to feel sadness when they passed-- leading to the deeper implication that I have "observed" most of my life, rather than "lived" it. Then again, maybe it's normal human nature to not be deeply invested in situations where you largely feel like a fish out of water. Ultimately, it leaves me with an unpleasant aftertaste, questioning why I have spent my life so ready to "just accept" many things that have fallen so short of my expectations and genuine wants and desires.
Sometimes I think I am nuts.
And I wonder why I am doing this.
But some part of my essence understands that I have never really had any "good old days," and this whole process is about creating something that can become my "good old days."
Some part of my essence understands that-- possibly for the first time in my life-- I am doing something (major) because it represents what I truly want, not just some "accident thrown my way."
Wayne Dyer calls it "living with intent."
Some part of my essence understands the rightness of the new chapter that's about to start-- a chapter based in intuition and gut feel, rather than intellect and logical thought.
My common sense hasn't always served me well, maybe intuition will serve me better.
Now I am going to toss the last few things in my office into a box, and dismantle the bookshelves. Tomorrow-- or the day after-- the truck will be fully loaded.
A phase of my life is at the verge of coming to an end. I arrived in Austin on January 9th, 1981. Now I am leaving. Within a couple of days, I will leave this chapter, closing the book on more than a quarter-century of existence.
I have lived in five different residences, while here-- not counting a couple of previous attempts to move away. I started out in a tiny 1940's efficiency apartment that hadn't been updated since the 60's. I didn't really expect to stay, so I never viewed it as much more than a glorified hotel room. It was "furnished," meaning that it had the bare-bones necessities you find in inexpensive living spaces. But it was cheap, and within walking distance of Safeway and the municipal golf course. It had lovely orange shag carpet. It reminded me of the description of "living in digs" sometimes found in English literature.
Once I'd accepted the fact that I was going to "be here for a while," I moved into a new condo project down the same street-- with K, my girlfriend-later-wife. It was a nice space, and not too horribly expensive-- unfortunately, it was bought near the top of the 80's real estate boom in Texas. A few years later, aformentioned wife said "I can't stand living in this little box," so we moved to a house, still within the city-- a "nice" house, in a "nice" neighborhood. Bigger than I would have wanted, smaller than she wanted, more expensive than we could really afford. We lived there for quite a few years, and I stayed on there, even after she moved to Dallas.... but we ended up selling it after she took a job in Oregon, and "the writing was on the wall," as far as the marriage was concerned. I developed a "bad" relationship with real estate-- selling the condo for $30,000 less than the original price, and selling the house for about $15,000 less. Not out of "hardship," or needing to "fire sale," but simply because they had been bought at two market tops and sold near two market bottoms.
After that, I moved into a swank one-bedroom apartment in the booming northwest growth corridor of town-- in many ways, those years were my happiest, as my "load" felt lightest. It was weird. Everyone I knew sympathized with me about "how awful" it must be for me to be living in a 680 square foot apartment rather than a house-- yet, I loved it. I started to become "me," rather than a reflection of someone else. In a sense, it marked a starting point in my awareness (which many HSPs share) that life feels best when it is fairly simple.
Then I met A, and eventually we moved into this house, in 1998. And now, that house has been sold. I am glad to say, for more than it originally cost-- although it feels crazy that in the 20 years I've owned real estate in this otherwise booming Sunbelt city, the general average market price has gone up by 230%, while the properties I have owned (on a net basis) have about allowed me to break even. Adjusting for inflation, I have about 30% of the value I started out with, in current-day-dollars. What once was $100 is now $30.
Interestingly enough, this is also the story of two "migrations." One migration is the journey to myself-- with each subsequent move, I left a little of my cluelessness and "false self" behind, and found a few more nuggets of authenticity. And, with each sequential move, I went from living virtually in the downtown core, to close-in city, to near suburbia, to edge city, to out in the sticks. And there's an odd dichotomy in that-- with each move I got closer to myself, but further away from "being in the world." I have learned (for the second time, actually) that the further I get from a city, the more "disconnected" I feel from the essential energy of the world.
It's an odd thing-- I'm basically a nature nerd, a solitary soul and an HSP introvert, yet I need the energy of the "hive" (city) to help me feel connected to life. But some part of me is aware that maybe I needed to "disconnect," in order to truly get in touch with my introspective self. The process of "finding ourselves," is perhaps more difficult when we are surrounded by too many other voices, telling us what we "should" be. And now, as a more grounded human being, I feel more able to reconnect with the stuff of life.
Of course, there's a third "migration," too. The migration that will take me from the city of Round Rock, TX (basically a northern suburb of Austin) to the city of Port Townsend, WA (roughly across the Puget Sound, northwest of Seattle). Although this migration is happening "now," it actually began in the fall of 1987-- the first time I went on vacation in the Puget Sound area and "felt" something; a sense of "belonging"
It's a very long story which I won't share here (if you care, you can read it here on my web site), but as I sit and write this I have a feeling that I have finally completed my training in "something," and am about to go forth into uncharted territory.
I feel very quiet. There is a great silence in my soul. There's a tiny seed somewhere, "trying" to feel sadness, or loss, at this point of closure. That same tiny seed showed itself when I graduated from college, when I shut down my business, and when I left the courthouse after the final divorce papers were filed. I am vaguely troubled by the fact that these watershed moments only seem to offer a profound sense of relief, not loss, nor sadness or regret. A part of me examines the possibility that I was never "invested" enough in any of these life events to feel sadness when they passed-- leading to the deeper implication that I have "observed" most of my life, rather than "lived" it. Then again, maybe it's normal human nature to not be deeply invested in situations where you largely feel like a fish out of water. Ultimately, it leaves me with an unpleasant aftertaste, questioning why I have spent my life so ready to "just accept" many things that have fallen so short of my expectations and genuine wants and desires.
Sometimes I think I am nuts.
And I wonder why I am doing this.
But some part of my essence understands that I have never really had any "good old days," and this whole process is about creating something that can become my "good old days."
Some part of my essence understands that-- possibly for the first time in my life-- I am doing something (major) because it represents what I truly want, not just some "accident thrown my way."
Wayne Dyer calls it "living with intent."
Some part of my essence understands the rightness of the new chapter that's about to start-- a chapter based in intuition and gut feel, rather than intellect and logical thought.
My common sense hasn't always served me well, maybe intuition will serve me better.
Now I am going to toss the last few things in my office into a box, and dismantle the bookshelves. Tomorrow-- or the day after-- the truck will be fully loaded.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Moving and Life Changes
Normally, I don't write too much about my personal life on these pages. It wasn't ever really my intention to make this a "personal blog," except to the extent that my own experiences are somehow helpful in an "HSP Context." I do have several other blogs that approach my life from a more "personal" angle-- but that's not my point, here.
I am moving.
Actually, I have been moving for a very long time.
I came to Texas in 1981 to go to college, and have ended up living here for 25 years. "By accident." That may sound absurd, but I really do feel like a quarter-century of my life has passed by as little more than "a coincidence."
Maybe "coincidence" isn't exactly the right word. I think the "coincidental" feeling of my existence here is more the result of never having given serious thought to "place" as part of my personal formula for contentment.
As human beings-- whether we're HSPs, or not-- I think it's something we tend to do. It seems to be popular societal more that "we create happiness wherever we are." There are lots of "experts" and motivational teachers who tell us that we just need to learn how to be "happy with what we have." Whereas I do understand the underlying intent behind this philosphy, I believe it also has a "shadow side." That shadow is that we are at risk of getting lulled into the relative comfort of "not reaching for more."
It's ironic, in a way, how we can be encouraged to "reach for our dreams" and in the same breath be told that those same dreams are "just wishful thinking" based on some false notion that "the grass is greener" somewhere (or somehow) else.
I am moving, because I want "greener pastures." And I have been "moving" for a long time-- more than a decade, to be precise. I am putting together some thoughts about the deeper implications of moving, and what it perhaps means to "move for the right reasons." Hopefully I will find some time, between packing boxes and feeling overwhelmed by the whole thing, to get to the bottom of that idea.
I am moving.
Actually, I have been moving for a very long time.
I came to Texas in 1981 to go to college, and have ended up living here for 25 years. "By accident." That may sound absurd, but I really do feel like a quarter-century of my life has passed by as little more than "a coincidence."
Maybe "coincidence" isn't exactly the right word. I think the "coincidental" feeling of my existence here is more the result of never having given serious thought to "place" as part of my personal formula for contentment.
As human beings-- whether we're HSPs, or not-- I think it's something we tend to do. It seems to be popular societal more that "we create happiness wherever we are." There are lots of "experts" and motivational teachers who tell us that we just need to learn how to be "happy with what we have." Whereas I do understand the underlying intent behind this philosphy, I believe it also has a "shadow side." That shadow is that we are at risk of getting lulled into the relative comfort of "not reaching for more."
It's ironic, in a way, how we can be encouraged to "reach for our dreams" and in the same breath be told that those same dreams are "just wishful thinking" based on some false notion that "the grass is greener" somewhere (or somehow) else.
I am moving, because I want "greener pastures." And I have been "moving" for a long time-- more than a decade, to be precise. I am putting together some thoughts about the deeper implications of moving, and what it perhaps means to "move for the right reasons." Hopefully I will find some time, between packing boxes and feeling overwhelmed by the whole thing, to get to the bottom of that idea.
Tuesday, November 19, 2002
HSPs, Relocation, and the Power of Place
An HSP "Virtual Friend" recently asked me if I had much experience with major relocations, and with choosing a place by "intuitive feel," just because it seemed right. The discussion was interesting, so I'd like to share some of it here.
I have more experience in this area than I care to think about-- I don't know precisely how many times I have moved, but I have lived in 10+ countries on three continents; as well as several places in Texas; AZ, OR and WA. My guess is that I have moved (from locally to internationally) 30-40 times in my 42 years. My "overall" account name here on Blogger was established under the moniker "GlobalNomad," which should tell you a thing or two.
If there is any "wisdom" I have gathered from this nomadic lifestyle, it is that there is a huge difference between going to a place because you want to, purely for the sake of the place itself, and going to a place for the sake of another person, or because you "have to" (i.e. job move, family emergency move). Personally, I see the chance to freely sit down and choose "the perfect place" as a great-- and quite rare-- opportunity, rather than something to be feared. That's not to imply that a cross country move might not overwhelm, by the way.
If you have no major commitments-- job, family, dating, marriage, business-- you are actually at an ideal crossroads to decide "Where would I really LIKE to live?" Very few people ever have this chance. It is still scary (especially for an HSP) to consider a major move across the country-- but if you're "unencumbered" (so to speak) you have eliminated a great deal of the inner turmoil and stress that often goes with leaving a place behind.
The task, then, becomes the challenge of taking "inventory" of yourself in terms of what makes you like (and DISlike) any specific geographic location. You have to figure out what makes you happy. Is it nature? Is it city culture? Is it a certain climate? The quality of education (obviously relevant, if you're a parent)? Cost of living? The arts? Do you like being near mountains, or the ocean? A certain lifestyle? Do you need public transit? Access to continuing education? Can you readily "replace" your current stress free job? Is your work experience specialized, requiring the presence of certain employers? There are any number of "if only I had this!" criteria that we build up in our minds, over the years-- and those would be what I would look at first.
Once you have a very clear idea of what is important to you-- then I'd suggest you start trying to match your desires to a place. Allow yourself plenty of time to figure out the pluses and minuses of different locations.... alas, I have heard too many sad stories on people who moved to a new city on a whim... because they had seen a cool program on the Travel Channel, or had visited once for a 5-day vacation... and used that as the only thing to go on. Also, be open to the idea that your current "home" may actually be the best location for you. However, if you're feeling restless and rootless, that's somewhat unlikely.
Ultimately, you have to go visit the place you're contemplating. Take your vacation there, but don't be a tourist. Go be a "local." Book yourself into an "extended stay hotel" with a kitchen. Make yourself go to the grocery, the bank and other stuff you do on a daily basis. Drive through neighborhoods to get a feel for them. Listen to your intuition. Does the place "feel" right, to you?
Listening to your inner wisdom is also important when it comes to your overall decision for moving-- at least in terms of trying to figure out the true nature of your "restlessness." If the desire to move is inspired by a feeling of wanting to "run away from being by myself," you may want to examine that, as well. And I'm not saying that it IS, by any means-- just understand your own motivations for wanting to move.
A change of location affords us a "clean slate" in some ways-- it's an opportunity to start again, in a place where nobody has any preconceived notions about who we are, and what we do. As such-- scary moments aside-- it can be very cathartic. Although I am "deeply HSP" in many respects, the idea of packing my stuff and moving cross country does not scare me... except as a concern about choosing the wrong place.
I have more experience in this area than I care to think about-- I don't know precisely how many times I have moved, but I have lived in 10+ countries on three continents; as well as several places in Texas; AZ, OR and WA. My guess is that I have moved (from locally to internationally) 30-40 times in my 42 years. My "overall" account name here on Blogger was established under the moniker "GlobalNomad," which should tell you a thing or two.
If there is any "wisdom" I have gathered from this nomadic lifestyle, it is that there is a huge difference between going to a place because you want to, purely for the sake of the place itself, and going to a place for the sake of another person, or because you "have to" (i.e. job move, family emergency move). Personally, I see the chance to freely sit down and choose "the perfect place" as a great-- and quite rare-- opportunity, rather than something to be feared. That's not to imply that a cross country move might not overwhelm, by the way.
If you have no major commitments-- job, family, dating, marriage, business-- you are actually at an ideal crossroads to decide "Where would I really LIKE to live?" Very few people ever have this chance. It is still scary (especially for an HSP) to consider a major move across the country-- but if you're "unencumbered" (so to speak) you have eliminated a great deal of the inner turmoil and stress that often goes with leaving a place behind.
The task, then, becomes the challenge of taking "inventory" of yourself in terms of what makes you like (and DISlike) any specific geographic location. You have to figure out what makes you happy. Is it nature? Is it city culture? Is it a certain climate? The quality of education (obviously relevant, if you're a parent)? Cost of living? The arts? Do you like being near mountains, or the ocean? A certain lifestyle? Do you need public transit? Access to continuing education? Can you readily "replace" your current stress free job? Is your work experience specialized, requiring the presence of certain employers? There are any number of "if only I had this!" criteria that we build up in our minds, over the years-- and those would be what I would look at first.
Once you have a very clear idea of what is important to you-- then I'd suggest you start trying to match your desires to a place. Allow yourself plenty of time to figure out the pluses and minuses of different locations.... alas, I have heard too many sad stories on people who moved to a new city on a whim... because they had seen a cool program on the Travel Channel, or had visited once for a 5-day vacation... and used that as the only thing to go on. Also, be open to the idea that your current "home" may actually be the best location for you. However, if you're feeling restless and rootless, that's somewhat unlikely.
Ultimately, you have to go visit the place you're contemplating. Take your vacation there, but don't be a tourist. Go be a "local." Book yourself into an "extended stay hotel" with a kitchen. Make yourself go to the grocery, the bank and other stuff you do on a daily basis. Drive through neighborhoods to get a feel for them. Listen to your intuition. Does the place "feel" right, to you?
Listening to your inner wisdom is also important when it comes to your overall decision for moving-- at least in terms of trying to figure out the true nature of your "restlessness." If the desire to move is inspired by a feeling of wanting to "run away from being by myself," you may want to examine that, as well. And I'm not saying that it IS, by any means-- just understand your own motivations for wanting to move.
A change of location affords us a "clean slate" in some ways-- it's an opportunity to start again, in a place where nobody has any preconceived notions about who we are, and what we do. As such-- scary moments aside-- it can be very cathartic. Although I am "deeply HSP" in many respects, the idea of packing my stuff and moving cross country does not scare me... except as a concern about choosing the wrong place.
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