So it's taken me until middle age and a really inconvenient number of countries of residence to fully appreciate I don't just or even primarily like moving to new places; I like leaving old places. Not the scorched-earth-and-bridges-bird-flipping-out-the-window sort of liking leaving, though that has certainly had its place in some departures. It's more the intensity knowing you're leaving brings to your attitude to a place. Seeing the seasons cycle for the last time, watching the rise and fall of the rivers, the states of dress and undress of the locals. Last Christmases (though I must say the Christmas here at the moment is communicating a pretty strong don't-let-the-door-hit-your-ass-on-the-way-out; the Christmas market isn't even a tenth of what it normally is for some reason, and what's the point of Germany at Christmastime without the markets if you're interested in not blowing your own fucking head off?), last ceremonies, last hard-rubbish nights, and always, every day, that sharp, sweet, sad consciousness of it being last, last, last; keeping your mind fixed on the Now, your eyes and ears sharp for every little bit of it.
I've got really shitty for German culture for enforcing Sunday Silence rules. These grumpy morbid fuckers need a day a week to practice being dead, I've grumbled. And here I am, spending my whole adult life to date practicing the art of the Ending.
No regrets but I really have to cut this shit out, it's not fair on the kids, though I don't think I'm lying to myself in thinking the move is very, very much in their interests. Kids have a sense of place. I assume. Of course they do. My internal geography is still the shitburg I grew up in and couldn't get out of fast enough. I could find my way from one way to the other of it blindfolded, though I assume the drunk drivers would take me out first.
In fairness to us, this next move is the first we've chosen, ever, based on being pretty sure it'll be an enjoyable place to live. There was Australia of course, but I don't think I was excited for that on the basis of thinking it would be enjoyable so much as a sense of adventure, of something completely new, and of being really sick of religious architecture and northern European winters. Also I remember I wanted to be able to afford a house. Man, 13 or whatever years on, what a weird thing to remember thinking. "I wanted to move to Australia so I could afford to buy a house." Hah! Sounds as stupid as the line I used to spit endlessly about having moved to Germany for the weather. The city where we were living in Oz was basically washed away in this year's floods and we'd still probably need a 50 year mortgage if we wanted to move back.
Anyways. Let's see.