Change, is finding my way home

Or, how I’m feeling on the second anniversary of moving to Goa.

Its the kind of day that has a slow start. Partly because I’m just about re-discovering the feeling of turning my head all the way around again. The neck, its coming back to life, yes it is. Add to it the feeling of hitting the ground running, because the past three days have felt like a non-stop rush against time, right across the weekend and the extra day at home. Working against a deadline weighing down on me, coming in to work today, I feel like body is still on overdrive, by my mind has slowed down. And yet around me things are rushing around faster still.

Its the kind of day fit for distractions. To escape from the mundane. And go play with the thoughts in my head. Because today it is exactly two years since I packed all my belongings, memories and life itself into precisely 13 boxes and 4 suitcases and set off Goa-wards. By far the widest I have stretched my change-muscle. You know the one that gets atrophied when it is not used enough.

Its the kind of day that brings back an old favourite

Makes me want to hit pause. And sit with myself for a bit. Ponder. Contemplate the simple things. About how life used to be. About where it all began. And how far I’ve come. The two years gone by have been spent mostly in dealing with change, embracing it, being shocked by it, letting it take over me, stopping short – aghast, crying over it, loving it, cherishing it and the like. The two years gone by were spent largely finding my way around, putting my feet firmly on the ground and discovering the finer nuances of a life on my own. I have loved every moment of it.

Today, two years down I am at those same crossroads again. It’s funny how life has this way of sending you way all the right things that you most need, at just the right time. And my immediate reaction to each of these situations has always been the same: an immense sense of being overwhelmed. Not being able to take it all in at once. Of just staring helplessly at the pieces falling into place fortuitously, almost as if by some karmic force. It’s happening again. And again I’m trying to come to terms with this feeling that’s engulfing me.

It’s the kind of day that makes you realise that, cliched as it sounds, change is here. I can either love it. Or hate it. I can choose it, and make it my own. Or walk away, and never look back. I’m at those crossroads again. Except, this time I cannot be indifferent to it. It is just the kind of confrontation I needed. And if it weren’t for my blind faith in fate, I would probably be fighting this tooth and nail by now. But the belief that such things happen for a reason coupled with some conviction that I am in good hands, is keeping me going. And so I find myself going through the same cycle of finding my feet again, stretching and flexing my change-muscle to the fullest. Sinking in to it slowly. And letting circumstances show the natural and organic way home.

All I have want to do is wonder what else is in store, feel at home and thank the universe for putting me in the right place at the right time. And most importantly for helping me find my way home.

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