Moving out and moving on

It’s been a few weeks and shit is getting real. My house goes on the market today (eek), and I have an open house on the weekend. I want out of here and the bad dating karma it’s attracted. Sure, that could also be me, but easier to blame the bathroom tiles with dolphins on them.

That daunting feeling that comes with big life change seems small compared to the happiness I know is on its way. I need this, I need it like I know I needed to leave my life and husband five years ago. It worked for me then and I am confident it will work for me now.

But I won’t be going back to the Gong. It was on my possibilities list, despite the even crazier state of the real estate market down there. I contemplated it and all the things that made me happy there but most of them are gone now. I went down at the weekend to stay with D. While he worked on Saturday morning, I took myself into the city, walked and drove past my old haunts – the café where I had breakfast, the beach I spent hours and hours laying on, the apartment building so close to the restaurants that you could catch delicious wafts of Thai, Indian, Greek, Brazilian BBQ, Italian, Mexican, Vietnamese, Turkish, Lebanese and of course, Crust Pizza at all hours.

But, my favourite book shop is gone, the mall is a wasteland of empty shops. The questionable public art is still there but the people are not. The only thing that felt the same was my favourite massage place and there at least I found some happy memories … just realised how that sounds. Absolutely not those kinds of happy memories lol

More of the Doctor and I smoking cones and walking there for 90-minute foot and oil massages, stopping at a bar on the way home before spending a chill night on our deck, playing guitar and drinking beers.

Memories of my bestie and I drinking two bottles of Veuve at the bar across the road from my apartment building, watching the world go by, laughing at the guy who facetimed me so I could watch him jerk off.

Eating gozleme at lunchtime and sharing stories with our very loved up and married friend V, the shock and horror on her face worth every moment as we taught her about new sex trends.

Ordering a drink at the whiskey bar downstairs, joking with the owners about tonight’s date prospects … they certainly witnessed a few of them. Playing Jenga in the same bar, covering our espresso martinis and G&Ts with our hand so the wooden blocks didn’t tumble into them when the tower inevitably crashed down, momentarily silencing all conversation in the bar.

Walking. Walking everywhere, all the time. Having to remember to go into the basement and turn my car on just so the battery didn’t go flat. Walking to be somewhere, walking for pleasure, walking for exercise, walking in the hunt of some elusive Pokémon the Doctor was chasing.

And the beach, my happy place, then and still. Whole days spent sprawled on my towel, devouring books and bottles of water. Escaping the long summer nights that never cooled down with a 5am swim, watching a pod of dolphins catch waves before walking home, sandy, wet, blissful.

I wish I could get that back. I thought I would try. But, so much of it was the people and most of them have moved on now. I still love the ones who remain but it’s not enough for me to move so far away from my family now. What I thought D and I might have tried to have was a pipedream, a fallback plan I suspect. He doesn’t know what he wants let alone whether or not he wants to share it with anyone.

So, I’ll make my own way, again.