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Let’s make this public – I am losing my home …

I am losing the foundation on which my life has been precariously perched for years. The news came yesterday. With an ominous foreboding starting a few days ago.

My reactions range from speechless, frozen, fluttering nervously, heartbroken, fearful, sleepless, restless, struggling to make sense. I may share the experience of losing my Homebase, my roots, my foundation. My art studio, my belongings and my home, my safe haven.

I may not. But the reason to share would be that in this world I am not alone facing hard things. If I can share the utter helplessness and fear I feel now and if I share my journey as I pass through this storm and hopefully not sink, if I can share the light and calm at the end of all this then maybe someone out there will feel reassured that even from the hardest times from the most disadvantageous times can rise something that isn’t so bad or maybe it will even be great.

But for now, in this moment, I need to remind myself to breathe, so look towards the light and not make myself sick with worry.

An irregularly beating heart valve isn’t the best of starting places to digest one’s existence having the proverbial rug pulled from beneath its feet, rapidly.

I can’t claim, of course, that I didn’t see this coming. I did. I have been anticipating this moment with trepidation. But there was nothing I could do about it.

A lot of blame (or let’s call it cause) falls outside my control. I didn’t vote for Brexit, nobody could have predicted a global pandemic. And I am not in charge of immigration rules. There was more outside my control. But those aspect that feasibly could be judged to be inside my range of responsibility and within my own control I wasn’t able to figure out.

“Make better choices” unempathetic people may say.

That is so much easier said than done when inside this tangled spiderweb of cause and effect, intermingling complex consequences.

What now?

Forward. Through the panic, through the fear, through the migraine. There is no other way now.

Writing my way through it may help me. And maybe someone else will benefit seeing that from forest fires Phoenixes sometimes rise.

But in truth: it feels terrifying and horrible and I feel like I can’t do this. But it isn’t a war and even in this trauma is a small sliver of privilege.

I have to vacate my apartment. It is on the other side of the world and the task is huge. Home. This is a lot.

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