Early morning and I can see the moorhen chicks in the pond, darting around, quick movements. The sun catches the ripples in the water, the slight breeze causing the leaves to chatter softly in the trees, the green of the hills, gently rolling away into the distance.
I love it here. I don’t want to leave. Ever. The window is wide open, my feet resting on the ledge, sunlight warming my bare legs. This is the home office I always wanted, but sadly staying here much longer is not an option. Our year-long house-sit holiday is almost at an end. We have to go, to move on, walk forward to something new, different, unexpected.
We’ve been dancing around this decision for weeks, months, putting it off, waiting for something to “come” to us, waiting for inspiration to strike, avoiding actually making a decision at all costs. Could it be I’ve hooked up with the only other being on the planet who is as incapable of decision-making as I am? Or am I being unfair? Who are these people who make perfectly planned and executed decisions anyway? I’ve tried writing things down, lists, pros and cons, but it never works for me. I only ever go with how I feel, I can’t help it, but sometimes the feelings just won’t come, or if they do I don’t recognise them.
Maybe I’m getting better. We talked about going back to the UK. We slept on it or rather he slept and I lay awake, my insides twisting and churning, my back muscles slowly turning to stone, fear tightening its grip over my solar plexus as I fitfully tried to sleep. We discussed returning to Lyon. I felt sick, I couldn’t breathe. I was getting strangled by my own stubbornness and unwillingness to go back to something I knew, somewhere I’ve already lived, a job I’ve already done.
We gave up on our decision making and took some time out visiting Bergerac and Bordeaux, catching up with long-time friends. His not mine, our lives are still separate like that. In our escaping, our running away, a funny thing happened and we caught a spark of something. Excitement, anticipation, newness, and just like that the decision was made and a plan was born. We set ourselves off on another track, another trajectory, another life to be lived.
Hey, this is nice, there’s a good feel to the place, let’s come and live here. Whispered over a rainy picnic in the park, murmured while wandering the ancient streets marvelling at the grand buildings, quietly voiced in a café watching the city life buzz all round us.
And so one rainy, summer day the decision to move to Bordeaux came about. It’s scary. We don’t know anyone there or have any work contacts like we do in Lyon. We don’t have family there or cultural ties like we do in the UK. We just have each other and the guts to give it a shot. Hopefully that’s enough.
Tell me, do you have a decision-making process or are you more like me in your approach?