I am walking my son, Lars, to school this morning when it hits. A foreboding magnitude begins to press down on me and the looming feeling of fright is palpable. However, there is nothing I can do about it since I’ve played my own key role in this massive turn of events. The only way out is to travel forward.

We’re moving. Even writing it seems surreal. We are moving to a new house, in a new city, a new school district and an entirely new place. We are venturing into unknown territory with two small children and a brain full of hopes and dreams for our future. It is the most terrifying thing I have done since bringing my two small people into this world.

As I write this at my usual spot I look around at the backdrop. I am sitting in the same kitchen we sat in with a three day old Sophie as we watched Lars blow out a wax candle shaped like the number two. It is the place where my now husband, James, proposed to me, right here on the kitchen floor while baby Lars played in the living room below. It is the home, wherein the last eight years there have had countless arguments, ridiculous nights of merriment and so many moments forever sealed to memory. It is the place where James and I began to build our family.

Intimidating Change

While I am walking hand in hand with my son I quietly think about what will soon be changed. They will be attending a new school which means making new friends and building new relationships with teachers. It means saying goodbye to the people they have grown to love here. It means more change than any of us have ever dealt with as a family. It is damn intimidating.

Intimidated—that is the perfect word for how I feel right now. Will I be strong enough to assist my family emotionally in this move? Am I forthcoming enough to make the new friends I know I will need in this unfamiliar place? Will I be assured enough to stand confidently even when both James and I experience moments of self-doubt?

Yes, in the deep of my soul I know the answer is yes to all of these questions. But the intimidation still lingers.

Feeling Undeniably Alive

I can feel this lump in the back of my throat each time I think of driving away in our moving truck—towards the indefinite. I have never been as afraid as I am in this moment.

It makes me feel undeniably alive.

This is what we live for. We are put here to make advancements, break barriers and do something (anything) out of the ordinary. Progress cannot be made by keeping the stagnant. This is how James and I came to our conclusion that it was time for us to move onward. We want to teach Lars and Sophie that although new endeavours can be daunting, they are essential for growth and fulfilment.

The morning is foggy as Lars and I walk. He grips my hand a little tighter.

“Everything okay sweetie?” I ask.

“I’m just really scared of the fog Mom,” he replies. “We can’t even see to the end of the alleyway. I don’t like not being able to see what’s ahead.”

His comment makes me think about how unclear our own future seems. I realise that this hazy alley behind the only home he has ever known mirrors the anxieties I have been feeling in regards to our move.

“It’s normal to feel scared when you can’t see what’s ahead of you Lars.” I give a gentle squeeze to his hand. “But we know that we have to get to school right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we’ve got to move forward. See, as we walk, the fog seems to fade away and the closer we get to the school the clearer the road becomes. Fog isn’t that bad when you think about it, you just need to move slowly and carefully through it to be able to see clearly again.”

“You’re right Mom and it makes it better when I have someone to walk with.” He said.

Ready To Start Anew

Three years ago my family and I held hands, put our bravest faces on and moved forward. We moved to the new city. We met and fell in love with the new school and teachers. We began building connections and eventually build a restaurant in our new hometown. We grew as individuals and we grew as a family. We have found friends that after only a few short years we now call family.

I can now say, looking back honestly, that I learnt far more than I possibly could have if that once unimaginable move hadn’t been made. It was the best and simultaneously riskiest jump we could have taken a chance on. And it paid off.

We are now ready, once again, to start anew. We have decided to sell our little sandwich shop and move on to bigger and better things. It’s sort of like this change thing is addictive once you get going with it.

Foggy areas can be worrisome. One might even call them terrifying. But when you have the people you love holding your hand reminding you that there will be clear skies on the other side, it all of the sudden doesn’t seem so daunting.

[text_with_frame id=”ffcce2218c6cfd950aa5d6a7dbd9e4fc” content=”‹¨›p‹˜›‹¨›img class‹´›‹²›alignleft‹²› src‹´›‹²›https://cdn-images-1.medium.com/max/1000/1*LJBMfxLGZs96aWPFmvz0EA.jpeg‹²› width‹´›‹²›241‹²› height‹´›‹²›241‹²› /‹˜›Lindsay Brown is a mother, wife, small business owner and writer. Her and husband James are raising their two small humans while owning and operating a growing sandwich shop.‹¨›/p‹˜›‹¨›p‹˜›This busy life gives Lindsay all the material she needs for her blog, Doing The Life Things, where she brings awareness to self-care and family life through humorous daily writings.‹¨›/p‹˜›‹¨›p‹˜›You can check out Doing The Life Things here: ‹¨›em‹˜›‹¨›a href‹´›‹²›https://doingthelifethings.com/‹²› target‹´›‹²›_blank‹²› rel‹´›‹²›noopener‹²›‹˜›https://doingthelifethings.com/‹¨›/a‹˜›‹¨›/em‹˜›‹¨›/p‹˜›” line_color=”rgba(0,0,0,.07)” text_font=”body” heading_font=”heading” animation=”fadeIn” animation_speed=”2″ animation_delay=”0″ __fw_editor_shortcodes_id=”0fd6fc28a401360c4bf0b54be15ddb56″ _fw_coder=”aggressive”][/text_with_frame]