As 'moving to London' becomes less something that we talk about doing in the future and more something that looks like it might actually happen, the urgency with which I feel like I'm going to vomit right into my lap increases drastically.
Don't get me wrong, we still haven't sold our flat and we haven't started looking for houses in London, and since that one day when we announced that we were planning on moving we have done absolutely nothing to try and secure work. But it's looking more like it's something that is going to happen, and within the next year, and ohmygod I'm going to throw up. The thing is, I feel sort of paralysed. Somewhere between the life I've spent 5 years building and the life we talk and dream about for our future and somewhere there, half way between Glasgow and London (Wigan?) there's me, curled in to the foetal position pretending it's all not happening while spectres of mortgage lenders and the frankly terrifying business competition in London delightedly jab me with their fingers and whisper gleeful promises of failure in my ear.
Call it fear or pessimism or denial but I feel exactly like I did when I was 37 weeks pregnant, that nothing is ever ever going to change, I'm going have two people inside me and need to pee six times a minute FOREVER. I can picture the future with our dog and our garden and our beautiful London clients and I'm more or less present in the life we live just now (which make no mistake, is pretty amazing) but when I try to picture actually making the change? Wigan.
I'm working on leaving, no one wants to spend too long in Wigan (joking, I've never been, it might be lovely.) but I'm also trying to accept that this huge chasm of uncertainty between making a decision and actually being able to make it happen is just a fact of life and one that I need to embrace, not fight. Maybe it's not the end of the world if I'm not certain all of the time?
* IMAGE BY JENNIFER TRAN www.jennifer-tran.com