I have a love-hate relationship with change. As a control freak, I like everything to be organised and safe. As an impulsive who changes my mind often, I tend to make on the spot decisions at the briefest of whims. Needless to say, being a living contradiction can be draining at times.
So here I find myself, just three sleeps away from making a *huge* move from my beloved Bo Kaap to the very heart of Suburbia. From a lovely retro apartment that has been more of a home than anywhere else I have stayed, to a gorgeous cottage that is straight out of my decor fantasies. A study, a garden, a fireplace… a corner bath and a shower. A country chic kitchen with a built-in wine rack and a chalk board wall. A grey living room – something I have wanted for ever. It is all mine, and I don’t have to share it with anyone. I find myself breaking out in a ridiculous grin and my house proud inner self wants to rub her hands together in glee at the potential for decor smugness.
I have not started packing. I still have a gazillion pages to write. I should be in full, typical stress mode and having meltdowns en masse. I really should not be browsing the Kindle Store for more trashy vamp series. But here I am, as serene as can be. I honestly do not feel even remotely worried because I know it will all work out anyway. I’ve paid my dues and worked very hard to get to this point, and I’m not going to waste any time on pointless stress.
The biggest and most important change I have made is a simple shift in attitude. The rest can take care of itself. I am winging it from here on out.