Here we go, ready or not. After three months of couch surfing, wandering, and renting—our new house is ready, papers have been signed, and the move is on. The Sweetie is working in Chicago, squeezed into a tiny downtown hotel room, washing his clothes at the Laundromat, hunting for food, and picking out his own tie. I’m home, wrangling funds transfers, storage units, and packing boxes.
We were in our thirties when we met, both independent, hard-working, and individually involved with our families and friends. We had separate lives, separate bank accounts, and separate living spaces. We combined resources, moved to Los Angeles, and began a forty-year relationship. Over the years, we have settled into more traditional roles: I am the nurturer, Sweetie is the decider. It makes more sense for me to cook (I know how), I don’t mind cleaning, I fold a mean fitted sheet, and I truly enjoy taking care of our home. Sweetie has a good mind for financial details, prepares our taxes, takes care of the cars, and knows his way around a tool-box.
So, we have become specialists—each proficient in our chosen field. I am glad he wants to drive, set the agenda, and take care of the details. Unfortunately, for the past fifteen years, I haven’t paid that much attention to his part of our equation. I day dream when we’re in the car, my mind blurs when he talks about Vanguard, I don’t always remember which credit card to use, and I have no idea how to wire transfer funds. Well, the jig is up, it’s time for me to pay the piper, face the music, and get this move moved.
The process as a whole is impossible. How can I possibly stay on top of the myriad financial details that accompany an enormous purchase, keep track of all the keys, and wrangle three big strong movers without my partner? How in the world can I move every item we possess from one reality to another? Using one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books, “Bird by bird, buddy, bird by bird.” (Anne Lamott, “Bird by Bird”)