Fate, Movement, and the Life You Didn’t Plan
On moving, planning, and the universe’s habit of rearranging everything Uff… I just moved. Again. Sixth time in the UK, sixth time watching my life disappear into boxes and reappear in a different postcode. My husband warned me decades ago that he loves to travel — I just didn’t realise he meant moving entire households like a nomad tribe crossing the desert with all their belongings strapped to camels. But this is my fate, and since I chose to live like a Stoic , I meet it like one. This morning I finally found my laptop between the boxes, so I took it as a sign: write first, sort life second. Though I still haven’t decided what exactly I mean by that. Should I find my husband first, then a toothbrush? Or the other way around? At this point, both feel equally essential and equally missing — a perfect metaphor for the first morning after a move. This is the strange comedy of movement: you lose the essentials, you find the unnecessary, and somewhere in between you rediscover yourself. T...
