Second Thoughts & Decision Fatigue

One week to go! Today was the first day I’ve really questioned myself.

I moved out of my flat and in with my Granddad. I’ve only lived in my flat for a few months but the people I lived with are beautiful people. It was a random flat on TradeMe, but when I met Kat I knew it was the right place for me. I could not have lived with more genuine, caring people. I will miss Kenny and Kat and hope their journeys take them where they want to.

I only had two carloads of stuff. All the ‘move’ done by midday Saturday. I was on track. Essentially, there are three options for my belongings: 

1)   Take to India

2)      Leave in storage
3)      Throw out

Going through every single possession I have and making that decision was not as easy as I thought it would be. After a day of packing, I had plans for the night but cancelled, I was too tired and grumpy. Talking to Granddad, he said that I was likely tired from having made so many decisions. Of course the second he said that I realised it was true. 'Decision Fatigue'- it's a thing. Every thing I touched had a decision attached to it. Hundreds of tiny decisions. (I threw out about 20 pairs of shoes…!). Towards the end of the day I was looking at things and having to talk myself, step-by-step, through each choice.

Perhaps my questioning my decision to move was less to do with any genuine issue with moving to India and more that I’m tired and have maxed out my decision-making quota for the day. I’ve heard that Obama wears the same navy suit every day because it means it’s one less decision he has to make. I understand that.

Way leads onto way, and I have been thinking about what I’m going to miss about Christchurch, my home.

Spring is so beautiful here. The magnolia trees, gnarled and twisted, laden with their heavy, soft, blooms. Nor-westers (I’m not going to miss the Easterly though). Delicate and wraith-like blossom, every gust of wind showering you with petals. The Port Hills, my playground, the place that challenges and changes me, that provides comfort and peace when everything else is in flux. The ease of friends and their welcoming homes, always bumping into people I know in every supermarket or café.  Safety in routine and familiarity, and I'm leaving it all behind.

When you ponder if you should get back onto Tinder or move to India and start a new life.

I think we’ve all had our heart broken in one way or another. My heart broke when a close friend committed suicide. My heart broke a little every time I've ended a relationship. My heart broke irreparably when my family chose my ex-husband over me. But I had never been in love. At 34 years old I had decided that being ‘in love’ was a fairytale. Or, if it did exist, it wasn’t meant for me. I was destined for that halfway love, where you love them, tolerate them, and settle for mediocrity. 

Then I fell in love. It was a long process and I didn’t realise what had happened until it was too late to drag myself out of it. Long story short, after an incredible relationship with someone I adored, that I loved in spite of and because of his flaws and follies, and the only man I’ve ever thought I could have children with- he wasn’t ‘in love’ with me.

Cue: Anguish and wailing, gnashing of teeth. Well, kinda. Almost a month later, it’s still daily tears and an ache in my heart so deep it physically hurts. The routines we had, the secrets we shared, the delicate and deep intimacy. Gone. It hurts in a way I can’t even begin to explain.

So, I can’t be here. I see his car everywhere. I scan crowds for him. Everywhere I look, memories. Every time, for a second, I forget, then I remember and my heart drops into my stomach, my throat tightens, and it’s fresh, raw, the wound seething with salt. It’s agony. It actually takes my breath away. I think the other side of this is that I’ve never been in love before and I believe I’ll never find love like that again. I don't deserve it. I didn't deserve him. But I can’t do mediocrity any more so I’ve resigned myself to being single forever. 

I know this is like the hangover where you curse yourself and promise that you’ll never drink again. But for now I truly believe this is it. I think I’d rather be single than feel like this ever again. Fuck that ‘it is better to have loved and lost than never lost at all’ bullshit. Nope, this sucks, I’m done, I’m out, I’m moving to India.